Malignant
by lizoftheinfinite
Summary: Because in the end, Damien always gets what he wants. Dark fic. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning:** Really long explanation from Liz.

I've been churning this idea around in my head for months, but I knew I didn't have the skill to pull it off. Now I'm hoping I've improved enough to make this work, and pressure from certain people has encouraged me to write another Damien/Christophe story.

This is not going to be a happy story. The main couple is not going to ride off into the sunset together.

I am perturbed by some aspects of the BL fandom that condone rape as a romantic gesture. However, the concept, if done right (or, I suppose, deliciously wrong) can turn out well. I've read some examples of well-done rape-fic, and I am most interested in the emotional possibilities it opens up. (Those of you familiar with my writing will know I just enjoy torturing the shit out of my protagonists).

That aside, this is not a rape fic.

At least, not technically. If you're perturbed by non-consensual or dubiously-consensual sex, I suggest you turn away. Those of you who are masochistic fucks and will read it anyway - I hope you enjoy the heavy levels of angst and violence in this.

Oh, and tomorrow is my seventeenth birthday. I am too old for this. Please point any of my usual stupid typos.

**Tl;dr**: For the love of god, do not read this if you can't handle dub-con.

* * *

Music:

_Don't Stop_ - Innerpartysystem

_Every Me and Every You_ - Placebo

_Heart-Shaped Box_ - Nirvana

* * *

**Part 1 of 3**

* * *

I prod at the dead body with the toe of my boot. After a few nudges, I manage to roll it onto its back. The bulging eyes protrude from the sockets. I recognize the face. Ms. Stevens', Bebe's mother.

"What did you see?" Gregory asks Kenny. The two of them stand a few feet away at the mouth of the alley. Their bodies are silhouetted against the street lights.

"I was tailing her back from their pickup, just like you asked me," Kenny mumbles through his hood. "She walked down this alley, presumably a shortcut back to her house. Then a dark bat thing whatever came out of the night and, like, _cloaked _her or something. I ran towards her, but it was gone by the time I got to her, and she was dead."

Gregory has that notebook of his out. He scribbles down notes, then turns to me. "Mole? What did I say about playing with dead bodies?"

"I don't know," I say. "I probably wasn't listening."

I can tell he's scowling just from his voice. "Can you tell how she died?"

I bend over and use my gloved hands to turn her over onto her stomach again. My flashlight is steady as I examine the back of her neck. A black circle the size of a quarter rests in the dip just above her shoulders. "Definitely supernatural. One of ze Tattoo Demons." I fish her wallet from her purse.

"Zis doesn't make any sense," I announce as I walk over to them. "Ms. Stevens was one of ze 'umans working wiz ze Tattoo Demons. Why would ze kill 'er?"

"Don't know." Gregory takes my flashlight, Ms. Steven's wallet, and uses one to look through the other. "Maybe she betrayed them."

Kenny is shifting from side to side, glancing around the alley nervously. The flashlight brings out the gauntness of his face.

"What?" I ask.

He looks at me, then back at the sky again, like he's expecting the same cloaked thing to kill us.

"I know you guys are paying me bank," he says, "but I still don't like all this supernatural shit, okay? I have too much bad experience with it."

"Go home for tonight. Thanks for all your help," Gregory says, absently digging into Ms. Stevens' wallet. "Wait, first, do you recognize this name? You've lived in South Park longer than us."

He holds up a card, blank except for a name printed in capital letters. DAMIEN THORN.

Kenny's face turns even paler.

"You know him?"

"Uh, not very well," Kenny says. "He's not very nice."

"Any idea why Ms. Stevens would have his card?"

Kenny shrugs. "Maybe she was working with him? I don't know." He glances around the alley again.

"Jesus-cocksucking-Christ," I snap. "If anyone is going to cloak you, we'll kill zem in return, and you'll come back to life anyway. So stop worrying about it."

Kenny shoots me something that might have been a smile behind his hood. "Sorry," he says. "It's late, I usually get killed if I'm out at this time. Look, he probably knows something. He's kind of supernatural."

"In what way?" Gregory presses the card to his lips.

"I - I don't know." Kenny starts stumbling down the alley. "I need to get home, okay? I want double for tonight. He lives on 659 Hemingway Street if you're really fucking curious. Just be _careful._ He's dangerous."

Kenny is gone before we can pry any more information out of him. Gregory watches the spot where he disappeared, then turns the flashlight on me.

"_Fuck! _Ow! Not on my eyes, you cocksucking beetch!"

He snickers in that upper-class-twat way of his. "One of us gets to search the dead lady's house and one of us gets to talk to the possible-demon and hope we make it out with all our teeth," he says. "Shall we flip a coin?"

* * *

The bastard uses a rigged coin.

I ring the doorbell, shivering in the Colorado night. The snow has already soaked through my boots. I once lived in Canada for two years and it was warmer than this.

No one comes, so I hit the doorbell again.

I hear footsteps coming and reach back to make sure my shovel is still slung in the perfect position over my shoulder.

The door opens, and a pale face about my age pokes out.

"It's three in the fucking morning," he mumbles. "Go sell your shit somewhere else."

"Are you Damien Zorn?"

His glare settles on me. He has red eyes, which I take as a bad sign. "Who are you and why do you want to know?"

"Christophe DeLorne." I hold out my gloved hand. "Zere's been a murder and I want information about it."

"Straight to the fucking point, aren't you?"

"You shake it." I stick my hand in his face.

He laughs. His laugh is raspy, deep, and very fake, like he pretends to do it too often. "You're funny." He shakes anyway. "Yeah, I'm Damien. Come inside before you freeze your ass off."

I follow him into the house. I have my shovel if he turns out to be a murderous demon.

The living room is large for a twenty-something-year-old. With the beige furniture and stainless wood coffee table, it feels like it's never been lived in.

Damien shuffles into the kitchen and fiddles with the coffeemaker. I follow him at a distance. "You a cop or something?" he says. "You never actually said whether you were."

"Do I look like a cop?"

"No."

"Well, zen, congratulations on using your powers of obzervation."

He smiles wide. With his dark hair flopping over his eyes, I can almost ignore the red eyes.

"How long have you lived in South Park?"

"Per'aps six monzs. My partner and I moved 'ere after we were requested for 'elp on a string of murders." I don't ask how he knows I haven't been here long. In a town the size of South Park, you pick up new faces fast.

"Your partner - your boyfriend or something?" He hands me a cup of coffee.

"We're partners in work. We kill sheet togezer."

He freezes at the coffee maker. I sip my coffee casually.

"You kill shit together?"

"Mostly 'umans," I say, "but demons sometimes, too."

He pours himself a cup of coffee and leans back against the counter, facing me.

"At first I was worried I'd been found out by the locals," he says, "but I think I get it now. You're just some wannabee demon hunter or something who thinks he's found himself the grand prize."

I narrow my eyes. "I am a professional mercenary, and I am 'ere to do my job, which is not to kill you. I am 'ere to get some information. And isn't it a little arrogant to call yourself ze 'grand prize'?"

He snorts. "Hardly. I mean."

I wait.

"I mean, considering who I am."

"Who are you?"

He looks almost hurt. "I'm the son of Satan. The prince of Hell."

"Oh." I take another sip of my coffee again. "Well. Zat was not what I was expecting."

"You going to run away screaming now?"

I lean against the far counter. "No. I told you. I need information."

He laughs again, this time a lot more genuine.

"You're the weirdest human I've ever met," he says. "That's not particularly a compliment. How did you find me?"

"Kenny McCormick recognized your name on a card we found in a dead woman's purse." I don't mind giving Kenny his name; Kenny can die.

"Kenny?" He frowns. "I told Kenny to keep it quiet about my location."

"Zat bastard knows you?" And he didn't tell me I was about to visit the prince of darkness? Fucking bitch.

"We're acquaintances." He smirks to himself, like there's something I'm missing.

I set down my cup of coffee. "'Ow I found you is not important. Ze fact zat you are ze prince of darkness is not important. I need information, I told you. Alicia Stevens is dead. She was killed tonight by some sort of demon."

"Oh yeah. Her." He frowns. "She came over here a while ago and begged for my help. Said she needed demon power on her side. Said a bunch of people were going to die. I said she need something more substantial to offer me than her soul. Like, a lot of souls. I gave her my card for when she came up a bunch of souls."

"'Ow many souls is your going rate for aid?"

"Forty-three, paid in the form of willing nubile virgins," he says. "I didn't know how she knew I was the son of Satan. I assumed she was one of the Drinkers."

"You know about ze Drinkers?"

"Not much, other than they're hooked on demon blood. Is that what this is about?" He narrows his eyes at me. "Give me an explanation."

I sigh. "About six monzs ago my partner and I received a request from an old friend to investigate some illegal dealings wizin ze city. Ze friend said ze drug problem was getting out of 'and, and we zought it was crack or somezing."

"But it wasn't."

"It wasn't. It was demon blood. Zere are about a dozen demons spreading the product zroughout Colorado, and zeir base of operations is in Souz Park, ze least we can tell. Zey 'ave about twenty 'umans working for zem. We only know zey are demons because we kidnapped one of ze 'umans and . . . convinced zem to talk."

"Mistake?" he suggests.

"Mistake. When we released zem, ze demons came after us. Fortunately, Gregory 'as enough contacts in ze 'uman and supernatural underworld zat killing eizer of us would be a mistake. Enough 'umans gang up togezer, we can kill a demon. So ze demons didn't kill us, just warned us zat ze next time zey would risk Gregory's contacts. We've been watching zem, gazering information." I shake my head. "But zey distribute at a different place every time and it's nearly impossible to get information. We don't know who zeir supplier is or what zeir motivation is. Demon blood is 'ighly addictive but what would demons want wiz a group of 'umans?"

"To make their slaves?"

"Oui, but _why_?" I slouch deeper into the counter. "Are you sure you're ze son of Satan?"

He just stands there, sipping his coffee and blinking groggily like the average human at three in the morning.

"Yeah," he says. "Why?"

"Because, I don't know. I've killed a lot of your demons, I zink. Are you mad?"

"They're not my demons and I don't give a damn about them anyways," he says. He puts the empty cup in the sink. "I'm not mad."

I roll my shoulders to feel the comforting handle of my shovel, just in case. "You must know somezing. You're ze son of Satan."

"I don't know about every little thing that happens in Hell. Besides, I don't spend a lot of time down there. The atmosphere is kind of stifling." He pulls an unopened pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "Do you smoke?"

"_Oui,_" I say, while my mind is going. It's been hours since my last.

"Cool. Let's go on the porch, I don't like to make the whole house smell smoky, sometimes I get guests."

The porch is half buried under two feet of snow. We clear away patches on the railing to rest our elbows. He hands me a cigarette and lights it for me with his finger.

This is when I realize, fully understand that I'm talking to what is possibly the most dangerous demon in the entire world.

Despite the cold, I start to sweat.

"I should probably get going."

He frowns. "Stay. Ask me questions. You must be dying to know about me."

It takes all my self control to snub out the cigarette before I've even had a puff.

"Don't be so arrogant. And I really should go. It's zree in ze morning. My partner probably zinks I'm dead."

Damien grabs my wrist. I stop and glare at him.

"You're _interesting_," he says. "Interesting people almost never come around. Kenny's been no fun since I turned him suicidal. Stay and chat with me."

"Let me go," I say.

"I'm the antichrist," he says. His eyes glow, and I can tell this isn't about him finding me interesting, this is about me telling him no. "You do what I tell you."

"Let me go."

His grip tightens.

I whirl and slam him into the wall. His back hits the wood and the air _whooshes_ out of him. I'm on him in less than a heartbeat, grabbing him by the neck and holding him against the house.

"We were 'aving a nice conversation," I say. "You told me a few zings, I told you a few zings. I could tell we were on our way to a casual acquaintance. We can still 'ave zat casual acquaintance, you just 'ave to act civilly and let me be on zat way."

I glare at him, and I see flames flicker in his eyes, and I see how threatening him could be a bad idea.

But no one touches me without my permission and gets away with it.

I pull back, crack my neck in a warning, and start for the door.

He breaks my arm.

The pain is immediate and paralyzing. I stumble off the porch and hit the snow in the wooded backyard behind his house. I scream, I think. Only once. Then I manage to choke down the agony and make little grunting noises instead. A chunk of something white rips through my shirt. I stare at it and my head swims.

Damien squats down next to me.

"Sorry," he says. "I didn't realize I was that mad. Here. Let me heal you."

His fingers trace over the bare skin of my cheek. I jerk to my feet, staggering backwards until I hit a tree.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

"I'm trying to help you!"

"I said don't touch me-"

And then he kisses me.

I freeze with shock for a second. He uses the opportunity to pin me to the tree. One of his hands grabs my wrists together and I make a sound of protest into his mouth. Then honey warmth spreads up my broken left arm, from my lips and my wrists and wherever he's touching me. The pain fades. He pulls away, smirking.

"There. Better?"

He still has me trapped against the tree. I stare at him. His face is dark in the dim moonlight. The only vivid part of him is the eyes.

"You broke my arm," I say, a little breathlessly. "I don't care 'ow angry you were, 'ealing it up does not give you fucking permission to kiss me, let me ze fuck go."

He kisses me again.

This time I struggle. My legs kick up but his uses his to trap my further. My arms grab onto his shoulders but he just uses one hand to hold them to the bark above my head. He tastes of ash and char and coffee and cigarette smoke. I gasp for air when he pulls back to let me breathe.

"I'll scream if you don't let me go," I say as calmly as I can between pants. Fear is rising in my stomach, making my throat constrict and my heart rate accelerate. It's not an emotion I feel often, and since it's here now I know I'm in trouble.

"I'm the prince of Hell," he says. "I can do whatever I want."

His free hand wanders over my chest. His smile widens.

"Let me go."

His hand reaches lower - and lower - and past the waistband of my jeans - and I can't help it, I flinch a little when he grabs me.

"Damien," I say, and I'm proud of myself for sounding so steady. "You don't want to do somezing you'll regret."

"I doubt I'll regret it." He kisses me for a third time, and his hand below starts to move.

I finally break my calm, and cry, "_Stop! Please!"_

He laughs, the motherfucker, his hips beginning to grind against mine as he _strokes._

Desperation lends me strength. I manage to yank my left hand free. He uses both hand to try and pin me. I grab my shovel off my back.

_Slam!_

He stumbles back, hands going to his bleeding eye. "What the hell-"

_Slam!_

The whole side of his head dents in, so that the eyes are crumpled and falling out, that the nose mashes up into the cheek and a good portion of his skin comes off to reveal crushed muscle underneath.

His jaw starts to work and the skin grows right in front of my eyes. He glowers at me as he heals. I run past him and for the door.

* * *

Gregory is already back at the apartment when I let myself in. He's drinking tea at the kitchen table. He raises his eyebrows as I stagger over to sink.

"Good to see you're alive, albeit covered in blood."

"It's not mine, I don't zink." I drink straight from the faucet, spit, drink again, swish. I still taste ash.

"Was he helpful?"

"No." I shut the faucet off and turn to face him. I wipe my mouth with my sleeve. I think that's when he sees that I'm shaking.

"What happened?" He's by my side in a second. As much of an asshole as Gregory can be, we're each other's' only friends and he knows it. "Are you hurt? Did he hurt you? Was Kenny right? Is he dangerous?"

I shake my head and reach into my pocket for my cigarettes. He doesn't even protest when I start smoking in the house. "No," I say, and from the way I'm trembling it comes out as a stammer. "I'm okay. 'E didn't 'urt me."

"Something's wrong," he says. "Was he-"

He touches my shoulder and I jerk away.

He stares at me, and I've got a feeling he knows or at least suspects what almost just happened to me.

"I just want to forget about zat beetch," I say. "'E didn't yield anyzing useful and 'e was a waste of time. You don't 'ave to worry. I want - I want a fucking shower. Please don't bring zis up, ever."

We both have secrets and fears and past traumas we've agreed to 'never bring up again.' His forehead bunches when he sees I'm adding another one to the list.

"Okay." His hand rests on my elbow, and this time, I manage not to flinch.

I start down the hall for the bathroom. Before I enter the room, I turn back and ask, "You searched Ms. Stevens' 'ouse. Did ze search yield anyzing useful?"

He searches my eyes for some confirmation that I'll be okay. I give it to him with a glare.

"I found her calendar. It was written in notes and supposed to be cryptic, but I think there's going to be another meeting for distribution down at Stark's Pond tomorrow night."

"We'll be there for surveillance?"

"We'll be there for surveillance." His forehead is still creased up, eyebrows still knitting together. "Get some sleep."

* * *

I wake at noon and spend about an hour with the sheets pulled up to my neck, staring at the wall and thinking. After debating the issue with myself, I decide that what happened last night wasn't my fault, as he is a demon who is infinitely stronger than me, and the fact that I almost got raped does not mean I'm a weakling.

So I go downstairs and make myself breakfast. I eat in front of the computer. Gregory enters the apartment at about one, scuffing snow off his boots.

"It's snowing," he says.

"Of course it is."

He peers over my shoulder. "Are you playing farmville?"

"_Oui._ Go away."

He turns to monitor off. I turn the wheely seat around to scowl at him.

"Don't give me that look. If I just leave you to your own devices in front of that thing you'll be at it for five days straight again. Are you planning to put on clothes today?"

"I'm wearing boxers. That's enough."

"I could have had Wendy with me."

I snort. "So? Let her see me. She should know what a real man looks like, since all she's gotten to compare to so far are you and ze Marsh kid."

"I told you, no one is allowed to mention him in this house." He sits down in the chair next to me and steals a strip of bacon.

"It's an apartment."

"That's irrelevant. Just don't mention Marsh." He eats my bacon. "I was scouting out the pond, by the way."

"Uh-huh." I start to dig into my pancakes.

"Found some good places to hide in the trees."

"Zat's nice."

"So."

"What are you getting at, Gregory? Go away and let my soul-sucking farmville addiction fester."

He sighs. "I just want to make sure you're up to it, after whatever happened to you last night."

"I said we weren't talking about it."

"Sorry." He waits anyway.

I sigh. "I'm sure."

"You're sure you're sure?"

"I'm sure, you stupid British son of a beetch. Stop asking me if I'm sure."

I hit the power button on the monitor and it squeaks as it starts to reboot.

"Damien is ze son of Satan," I add after a few seconds.

He blinks. "_What?_"

"You know. Antichrist. Prince of darkness. All zat."

"The son of Satan is living in _South Park?_"

"Zink about zis logically. Where else would he live?"

He gapes at me. "Why didn't you tell me this _last _night?"

"Because I wasn't in ze best of fucking moods last night, okay?" I snap. I grab my computer mouse and wave it in a fruitless attempt to make it power up fast. "And I don't zink 'e's intending to make a scene. From talking with 'im I got ze feeling 'e was a normal asshole."

_Aside from being stronger than me - so goddamn much stronger than me._

"This is _huge_, Christophe. How could you just _sit _on this-?"

I whirl on him, grabbing him by the collar. He holds his hands up slowly, eyes narrowed.

"If zat cocksucking beetch tries to 'urt anyone else," I snarl, the _else_ coming out by accident, "you won't 'ave to worry about 'im anymore, because e'll be dead. Do _you_ understand zat, Gregory Chandler?"

He nods. I release him and turn back to my computer. My web browser demands I upgrade it before I return to my game.

"Just," I say, "focus on ze mission at 'and. Ze demon blood. Ze tattooists. Bebe Steven's mozzer dying. We 'ave surveillance tonight, don't we?"

* * *

Crouched behind the trees, hidden in the snow, we watch the demons rise up from Stark's Pond.

The water slides off their clothes. The moonlight drips over their skin. They move up from the water as one, then walk towards the bank where the humans are waiting, their footsteps creating tiny ripples.

There are about twenty humans standing at the shore. They each clutch a duffel bag to their chests. I know every single one of them by name and address and social security number. The only one missing is Ms. Stevens.

"Shh," Gregory murmurs as we watch the demons join the humans.

"I'm not an _idiot,_" I growl back. "Stop being my fucking mozzer."

He grins in a half-apology. We're squished up next to each other, shielding ourselves from view, less than twenty feet away from the gathering. My heart beats loudly enough I'm afraid they'll pick it up. But we can hear their conversation.

The demons are grim-faced and pale. Even from this far away, I pick up a feeling of _other _around them. They each have a tattoo on their foreheads, a black circle the size of a coin. They wave their fingers and boxes appear next to them. The humans unzip their duffel bags obediently. Tweek Tweak, one of the youngest of the crowd, twitches wildly as a demon dumps the contents of several boxes into his duffel. I've never gotten a good look at the actual drugs before they were transported before. Inside the boxes are vials, the size of a pen, made of a substance that looks like glass. They must be made of stronger stuff, because I don't hear any breaking sounds as the vials are dumped into the duffel bag together. Tweek makes a squeaking sound and closes his duffel, but not before I have a chance to get a glimpse of the dark red liquid inside it.

The demons finish passing out the last of their vials. The humans are already gulping down the contents of vials. From our interrogation, Gregory and I found out that the demons hooked all their humans on the blood. By the time the demons began to ask them to distribute it, the humans were perfectly willing to do what they say.

Tweek sighs and rezips his duffel bag. The demons step back in a group. "Try to focus your efforts on more athletic bodies this time," one says in a low growl. "College-aged kids and younger. We only want top-notch humans."

The humans on the bank murmur their agreement. The demons continue to step back into the lake.

"Wait!" Tweek squeaks. "Where's Ms. Stevens?"

The demons all look at him at the same time. He squeaks again and jerks back a foot.

"She disobeyed us," they say together. "But you all are obedient, so you will not meet her fate."

Then they dissolve back into the lake.

"I knew zey were part of 'er deaz!" I hiss to Gregory.

He snorts. "Congratulations, Christophe. You have the observations skills of a three-year-old."

The humans at the bank are shuffling towards the road, in the opposite direction. Tweek and Kevin Stoley trail behind, muttering to each other.

"Disobedient? How do I know if I'm not being fucking disobedient? Huh? Huh? They're gonna find out I don't sit facing north during the day and then they'll hang my guts like halloween decorations!"

"Just don't be stupid, like her." Their voices fade as the group arcs around the lake. "You know she was trying to get out. She even asked me if I knew about anyone strong in South Park."

"You told her about the guy?" Tweek's voice comes out a high-pitched squeak. "Oh, Jesus, no! I told you not to tell anyone about him! He said he wouldn't like it if I told anyone I'd discovered the prince of hell in our Senior class! He said they would all think I was crazy!"

"I was trying to be nice!" Kevin says defensively. "Anyway, it's not like _I'd _ever go to him for help, so we're safe from the demon guys. He doubt he'd help us, anyway. They all think we're a bunch of -"

The sound washes away completely. Gregory and I sit in silence for a second, adrenaline racing under our skin, heartbeats throbbing hard enough to hurt our chests.

"He knows something?" Gregory demands. "You said-"

"'e said 'e talked to her and refused to 'elp 'er."

"But he could know more and just not have told you." His eyes are bright with reflected moonlight. "He could know more about the demons who are distributing. You said he wasn't helpful. We should go demand information."

"No!" I snap. He stares at me.

"We're not talking to 'im. Kenny is right, 'e is dangerous."

His eyes soften. "I'll go over there alone if-"

"No! _You are not going near 'im_!" I grab him by the collar. "Please, for ze love of zat beetch God, stay away from 'im!"

I'm trembling now. He grabs my hand, a gesture he only gets away with in times like this.

"Christophe," he says. "If you're scared, it's okay-"

"I'm not scared," I mumble. "I'm not. Just please. We don't need any information from 'im. We are close to getting zese guys on our own. Just. Please."

* * *

I stare up at the ceiling of my bedroom and think.

Because Gregory's right.

Damien could no doubt give us some useful information. He might even be able to take us to their ringleader.

But I'm afraid of him.

I consider Gregory and I going in pairs in our approach to him. But some part of me knows that Damien won't give a damn if I come alone or with a partner or in a group of a hundred. He is strong enough to face down any army. I have to confront this fucking fear alone.

I leave a note on the bed saying I've gone out for some air, and make sure to grab my shovel.

* * *

"Are these three-in-the-morning visits going to be a regular thing-?"

"Shut up. Just shut ze fuck up. I 'ave a taser and a gun on me and I'm not afraid to fucking use zem. Try anyzing and I'll make sure to baze you in 'oly water."

"Mad about last night?" He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, yawning.

"You fucking _beetch,_ you would 'ave-"

"I'm _sorry._ It got a little out of hand. I didn't mean to go that far."

I glower at him. "If you try-"

"I _won't_."

I can't figure out if he's lying or not.

"I need information."

"Of course you do. Come on in."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I _said _I won't touch you. I'm making dinner, you want some?"

"I still have my taser. And my shovel."

"Of course."

I follow him into the house, wondering what I'm getting myself into. The son of Satan saunters into the kitchen in front of me. His head is perfectly healed and whole. It occurs to me that no matter all the force I bring with me, he could still defeat me in seconds. Running won't help. All I have to depend on is his goodwill.

"Why are you making dinner at zree in ze morning?"

"Don't you know anything about demons at all?"

I raise my eyebrows.

"Okay, okay, I was playing World of Warcraft from like six until five minutes ago and I haven't eaten yet," he confesses.

I roll my eyes and follow him into the kitchen. He leans over a pot and pokes a wooden spoon into it. A wrapper on the counter gives his meal away.

"You eat _instant ramen_ for dinner?"

"And breakfast. And lunch, too, if I'm too lazy to go out."

"'Ow are you still alive?" I ask in disbelief.

"I'm a demon, remember?"

He pours himself a bowl and perches on the living room couch. I stand against the wall, shoulders up, glancing around for traps.

"I really am sorry," he says again.

And I don't give him an acceptance, because I still remember the way he broke my arm just because I wouldn't do what he told me. I've decided he's a liar.

"You must know somezing about ze demon blood trafficking."

He scowls. "This again? I really don't know who killed Alicia-"

"Ze ones who mass produce the blood. 'Ow would they get so many demons to give up zeir blood?"

"What are the humans paying them?"

I frown. "Ze aren't paying zem anyzing."

He freezes with the fork halfway to his mouth. "What? They aren't? What demon would give up its blood for free? Blood giving hurts."

"It does?"

"Well, you gotta stick a needle in yourself, you know."

"You've done it?"

"Couple times, only when I really need to."

"Like when you're trying to get someone to do what you say?"

He frowns. "What?"

"Ze time after we, ah, 'interrogated' one of ze 'uman distributors, ze demons retaliated by 'aving every 'uman who 'ad 'ad any of ze blood in ze past week or so in ze city converge upon us and drag us to zem. Zey explained to us zat zey controlled people who 'ad 'ad the blood recently, and it would be best not to fuck wiz zem."

"That doesn't make sense. Normal demon blood can't do that. Unless-" He frowns again.

"What?" I demand.

He sets the ramen on the coffee table. "Nothing."

"Don't fucking say nozing. You 'ad an 'oh!' moment."

"I did not."

"_Yes you did_. Tell me what you were oh!ing about."

"No." He pouts childishly.

"Fucking _bastard_. Tell me what you know."

"What are you going to do for me?"

"What do you _want_?"

He looks at me, gaze trailing over every inch of exposed skin, and I'm afraid of the answer.

"Make me dinner."

"What?"

"I'm sick of ramen. Make me something to eat. Can you cook?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Do you want my 'oh' moment or not?"

"Fucking cocksucking faggot-assed son of a beetch-" I stalk into the kitchen and yank open the refrigerator. "You 'ave marinara sauce and you can't even make your own dinner? Are you a fucking zree year old?"

"I told you, I can't cook." He starts to follow me into the kitchen. I turn to glare at him.

"You don't get anywhere near me, _beetch_."

He steps back and sits on the couch again. "Okay."

He has several boxes of pasta in the cupboards. I curse him out again. While I set the water to boil, I start to demand answers.

"So 'ow would one go about getting down to 'ell?"

"You die," he says.

"While you're alive."

"Unlikely."

"Kenny does it all ze time."

"Kenny dies all the time. It's different."

"Are you going to give me a straight answer?"

He shrugs. "I could take you, I guess."

I look back at him. "You could?"

"I'm the prince of darkness. Yes, I could. You would have to convince me to help you, though. And it would require more than dinner for me to go back there." He shudders.

"What, you don't like 'ell?"

"It's not _that,_" he says.

"What is it?"

"It's _stifling_. I'm the prince and future ruler so I have to keep up good PR. It was too much pressure."

"So you ran away like a rebellious princess?"

"Shut the fuck up. And I did not run away. I took a vacation."

I feed the pasta into the water. "Zere. It's boiling." I stalk over to my place against the wall again. "Now tell me what I want to know."

"Not until I have my pasta in my hands."

"Son of a _beetch_. It'll take a while. I don't want to spend 'alf an 'our wiz you."

"It'll be fun. You can tell me your life story. Explain how you got into the mercenary business."

I snort. "I was a kid, I was good at beating ze shit out of people, and it sounded like a financially secure and vaguely interesting part-time job."

"That's it? No drama?" He chews on a strand of his hair. "No angsty backstory? No burning desire to do good?"

"If you want a burning desire to do good, go to Gregory. I just want to be paid."

"Gregory is your partner, right? English, blond, looks super gay but isn't."

"'Ow did you know 'e's my partner?"

"I've seen him around town."

"_Oui,_ but 'ow did you know 'e's my partner?" I narrow my eyes at him. "You fucking _beetch_. Stay out of my life."

"How, when you won't stay out of mine?" He sits up from his slouch on the couch.

"Give me some goddamn information and I might."

"Jesus, you don't have any hobbies, do you?"

"You don't exactly bring out ze best qualities in me, cocksucker. I know you know something about zis particular demon blood and you won't tell me anyzing."

"I will. As soon as you get the pasta out."

He shrugs and smiles under the full force of my glower.

"Fine, zen," I say. "Fine. I'm going out for a smoke. Tell me when it starts to boil."

I shiver my ass off in the snow for twenty minutes until he calls me with a "_Christ-ophe_!"

When the pasta is on the plate and in his hands, I cross my arms and stand in his way, blocking his return to the couch.

"Tell me what you know."

He sighs and shakes his head, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

"_Fine._ Demon blood is extremely addictive when ingested by humans, but it doesn't usually brainwash them. The lesser demons who have been distributing the blood probably have no part in the mind control. Their higher-ups do. The only kind of demon blood capable of that effect on humans is the blood of a royal demon."

"You mean-"

"Yeah."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Are you-"

"No, I'm not. Don't be an _idiot, _Christophe, you don't strike me as overly stupid. Whoelse could it be?"

"Your father."

He shrugs.

"Satan is trying to create an army of 'umans."

He shrugs again. "Looks like it, doesn't it?"

"Try to be any more ambiguous, won't you?" I step towards him, weight shifted to be as threatening as fucking possible. He glances at me from under his bangs and smiles that self-assured smile of his, and I freeze.

Because I know Damien can crush me.

"I'll be back," I snap as I leave the house. "Enjoy your fucking pasta."

* * *

My breathe is steam in the night air. My boots crunch the snow and ice. Soft flakes patter down on my shoulders. I walk maybe a little too fast. After a few blocks I spot Kenny McCormick leaning against a lamppost.

"Kenny?" I stop a yard from him and hug myself. "Kenny, it's four in ze morning."

He pushes his head off his head. His voice comes out clear. "I'm sorry," he says.

"Sorry about _what_?" I demand.

"Damien asked me about you. I told him."

My heartbeat increases. "What? What did you tell 'im? Why did you see 'im? Do you know 'im better zan you let on?"

"He wanted to know what you were like. How good you were at fighting. Any weakness you have."

"Son of a _beetch_, why does 'e-"

"Where you live. Who you live with. Which bedroom you sleep in. How many neighbors would be close enough to hear you scream."

My skin prickles. "You're joking."

"I'm sorry."

I grab him by the neck and force him back against the lamp post. "Why would you tell him anything? Why?"

"You didn't have to visit him every day in hell for years," he hisses. "Damien _owns _me, Christophe, and I lead him to you, and I'm sorry. I didn't know he would take an interest in you."

"Why would you-"

"You're just his type. Smart-ass, tough, don't give a shit. Same height and build as me, and I _know_ I'm his type." He laughs. "He's probably going to rape you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I wish I could make this easier on you, but I can't. He acts nice, sometimes, but it's a lie. He's a liar. He's a liar and he always gets what he wants. _Never forget that._ Let me go, please."

I release him, and he rubs his neck.

"Go on," I say, a little faintly.

"You can't fight him off. Don't even try, it won't work when he's serious. He'll hurt you back if you scratch him. My advice? Just consent."

"Why would I -"

"Because, Christophe, listen, please, for the love of god. I was you, okay? It was six years ago but I was you once and he made certain insinuations and I said no. He made more overt insinuations and I told him no with a knee to the groin. So he got pissed, and he broke my legs so I wouldn't run, and he made it hurt. You have no idea, Christophe, how bad he can make it hurt." His face is expressionless as he talks.

"It would-"

"Shut up. Listen. As bad as the actual _act_ hurts, it won't hurt as bad as what happens next. He was mad that he didn't get my consent and he wanted to get back so he got told his buddies down in hell how much I screamed and of course they had to try me out to make sure it was true, right?"

He's shaking now as he talks. I reach out to touch his shoulder. "Kenny-"

"_Don't. _This is the important part. Because the second I started consenting and giving him what he wanted, he started protecting me. I was his little bitch and no one else could have me. Yeah, he could hit me, but at least it was only one fucking person and at least I was sleeping with him so I had _something _over him, right?"

His cheeks are wet.

"So do what he says. Because I'll come back to life, but you won't. Eventually he got bored of me. It took years but he let me go because he thought me being suicidal was fucking boring. So just deal with it. Deal with everything. Because if he kills you, Christophe, then he's won."

"Zere 'as to be some ozzer option."

"He's the son of Satan. Give him what he wants. He likes you. He told me that. He finds you interesting and attractive. Use that. Use whatever you can."

He hugs me, then, whispers, "I'm sorry," one more time, and disappears into the night.

I stand in silence, staring at the darkness around me, then sprint back to the apartment.

* * *

I sleep with the windows locked and my shovel in my arms.

* * *

I am awoken rather rudely with a knife to my throat.

I immediately try to jerk out of bed, but my attacker grabs my hair and pins me back into the mattress.

"I wouldn't do that if you wanna keep your neck," the boy says.

I peer up at him. It's not Damien. _Thank god_. It's a psychotic boy of about fifteen with glowing red eyes. _Fucking shit_. "Who ze 'ell are you?"

"You're Damien's new boyfriend, right?"

"'Ardly. Get ze fuck off."

"What's he been doing about the demon blood? I know he knows about it, there's no fucking way he doesn't know about us by now."

"Us?" I stare up at the demon above me. "You're one of ze ones ordering zem around? What's Satan's plan?"

"You think this is about Lucifer? Don't be fucking ridiculous. This is about me and Damien, just like it always has been." He presses the knife harder. I feel blood dribbling down my neck. "And I ask the questions. What has Damien been doing about the demon blood?"

"You've obviously been tailing 'im, why don't you figure it out? And 'ow is Damien involved in zis?"

"I said _I _ask the fucking questions." His eyes glisten with red.

The door opens. "Mole, I swear to God, if you sleep through the day again-" Gregory stops. "I see we have a guest."

The boy glances at Gregory, and I use the opportunity to throw him off me.

I roll from the bed, grabbing my shovel on the way down. He slashes the knife and it splits the pillow where my head was a second ago. Gregory pulls his gun and fires at the demon boy.

The demon boy dodges. His gaze slides toward Gregory again. I kick him out the window.

Glass cracks with a scream and shards fly. The demon boy shrieks on the way down and _thuds_ when he hits the bottom.

"I'll fucking kill you!" he yells.

Gregory glances at me. "I'll go get my sword and the holy water. Let's try to keep the fight out of the house, I'm still getting the blood off the ceiling from the last time."

I nod and launch out the window after the demon boy.

There's a huge shard of glass sticking out of his head. I land in a crouch and he glares at me. Blood runs down his face.

"Are you trying to make me laugh?" he demands. Electricity crackles between his palms and in his hair. He spreads his arms wide. I prowl around him, brain churning for the best line of attack.

"You're a _human_. I have powers you can't even dream of and you're trying to fight me? You're kidding, right? You've gotta be kidding. Nothing on earth can even match-"

"Except for me."

We all turn at the sound. Damien stands with arms crossed at the front door of our house.

"Honestly," he says with a scowl. "You can't use such flashy powers and not expect me to find you."

"You fucking asshole!" the boy screams. "I send you a polite invitation and you send me back my messenger's head? I'm trying to make peace, damn it!"

"Shut it, Noah," Damien drawls. "You're as much of a liar as I am. I know you don't want peace."

Gregory opens the door. "Did I miss anything?" He glances at Damien. "Christophe, who's the demon on our porch?"

"Zat's Damien."

"Ah." He punches Damien in the face. Damien reels back, clutching at his bleeding nose.

"That's for whatever you did to Christophe," he says coldly. Then he stalks over to me. "Who are we fighting?"

The boy is still screaming. "You'll pay for being so rude! I'll kill your boyfriend right in front of you, you scum!"

"For ze last time, I am not 'is fucking _boyfriend_!" I yell. "If you 'ave issues wiz him, take it up wiz 'im and not me."

"Are you kidding?" he sneers. "You threw me out the window."

He holds his hands and twin swords appear in his grip. There is still a glass shard sticking out of his head.

"No one throws me around a fucking window."

Gregory throws a jar of water at him. The glass breaks on his head and the water spills down his body. He glowers at us.

"Well," Gregory says. "Fuck."

"I'm not that kind of demon," the boy says. "I have powers like you wouldn't _believe_."

Then there are ten of him in a circle around us, their bodies staticky, laughing evilly. Gregory and I stand back to back.

"Hit them in the head," he says.

They charge at us, swords whirling.

I bash one in the ribs with my shovel. It pinwheels back and I catch it over the head. The fake demon explodes in a burst of smoke. Next to me, Gregory is hacking and twisting. A sword slashes my shoulder. I cry out and kick the offender in the stomach. They crumple to the ground, struggling for air. Gregory stabs his sword through its eye. More smoke explosions.

I whirl and turn and smash. Another sword cuts opens a cut on my thigh. Something slices my side and I shriek despite myself. My legs go out from under me, slipping in my own blood. Someone grabs me by the shoulders and forces me down into the earth.

"Say goodbye," the real demon boy says.

Then a gust of wind throws him off me. He lands in a slide twenty feet away. All the copies bleed into him. He doesn't even have time to scream before crevice opens up under his feet.

His cries only last for a second before the ground shakes and closes again.

"What did you do to him?" Gregory asks, panting.

"Sent the little fucker back to Hell." Damien wipes away the blood from his former broken nose as he walks over to me. "Noah's always been a bitch."

He kneels down next to me. "Are you going to pass out?"

I glare at him from under my blood-matted eyes. My fingers slip in blood as I try to hold my lower intestines inside my body.

"Why didn't you intervene earlier?" I demand through clenched teeth.

He seems almost taken aback. "I wanted to see how you would fight. Plus, I thought you would have hated for me to save you."

"I would 'ave 'ated to die even more, bastard," I snarl back, although the effect is lost due to the high, straining pitch of my voice. My world is dimming. The energy leeches from my muscles.

He reaches out and rests his fingers on my bare shoulder. "Let me heal you," he says.

"No!"

He sneers at me. "You don't want me to have to force it like I did last time."

I look away.

The honey warmth ebbs from my shoulder to heal my body. My energy returns. The pain fades and my head clears. The skin smoothes over my wound.

"Who was that guy?" Gregory stalks over to me and helps me to my feet, pulling me away from Damien.

"What, not even a thank you?" he says mockingly. "That's Noah. He's an . . . old acquaintance of mine. We don't agree on a lot of matters."

"Like the demon blood trade?" Gregory suggests, his eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps." Damien flicks his gaze to me. "I saved your life just then."

"Like 'ell you did," I snarl. "It's your fault 'e came after me-"

"I didn't throw him out the window. I saved your life and you owe me. Come make me dinner again sometime?"

"What?" Gregory narrows his eyes. "Stay away from us, antichrist."

Damien sneers at him and disappears in a wave of black shadows. We stare at the spot where he disappeared for a second.

"What's going on?" Gregory says quietly. "What have you been hiding from me?"

* * *

Gregory and I sit across from each other at the kitchen table. We each have mugs of our preferred caffeine source. His shoulders are tense. He's glaring me down.

"Tell me everything you've been lying about," he says.

I open my mouth, close it, then force myself to tell him. I tell him how Damien broke my arm and how he healed me. I tell him what Kenny told me last night, what he warned me of, and his suggestion. I leave out the part about how afraid I am.

"So I zink 'e's going to rape me," I conclude, and sip my coffee.

Gregory's knuckles are white on the handle.

"Are you sure," he says quietly.

I nod.

He stands up and turns away from me for a few seconds, twisting in the air, hands over his face. He screams, meaningless.

"How can you be so fucking calm about this?" he yells.

"Look on ze bright side," I say sarcastically. "'Es ''ot and I'm bisexual. It could be worse. 'E could be ugly. I can find 'is face attractive before 'e fucks me."

"God_damn it_, Christophe!" He slams his hands down on the table. The tea sloshes out of his mug. He grits his teeth, shakes his head, and sits.

"Why did you just _sit_ on this? If you'd told me sooner, I could have - we could have-"

"What? Run from 'im? _Non, _zere is nozing we can do." I light a cigarette.

"Don't just give up," he says.

"I'm not giving up, I'm being practical. Pragmatic. Worrying about it will not make it 'urt less."

My hands are trembling as I set my cigarette in my mouth.

"Are you going to do what Kenny advised?" he asks quietly. I can see the gears working in his mind, see the ever-calculating Gregory coming to the same conclusion that I already have. That Kenny's way will hurt less.

I smile grimly. "I am going to fight 'im until my last breaz."

He sits down again, teeth gritted. "Okay. Okay. There must be something we can do. Think about this. _Think._" He shakes his head. "Kenny says he likes you. He said we could maybe use that."

"I doubt 'e likes me enough to respect me, we only met two days ago." I roll my eyes.

"I don't know, but it means you have something over him. He values your company. Be witty. Be entertaining. Make him not want to break you." He shakes his head in frustration. "We should run. For the love of God, what have we gotten ourselves into? We should run. We should run right now."

"'E would find me in the end if 'e wants to find me, and 'e would only be more angry." I blow out smoke.

"Damn it, Christophe, stop being practical!" he snaps. "It's okay to be scared, you know? It's okay to cave every once in a while. I'm _here_ for you as your best friend, understand? And I will not let this bastard hurt you."

I smile a little more. "I'm not scared of 'im."

Despite my words, I feel a wave of panic when I hear the door creak open later that night.

* * *

I sit up straight and watch Damien enter my bedroom. He moves fluidly, like the shadows are lifting him. His feet touch the floor and he smiles when he sees me watching him.

"Should have figured I'd wake you up," he says.

I glance at Gregory, who's curled up sleeping next to me. He was awake until five minutes ago, insisting that he'd watch over me. Some sort of spell, most likely.

"I wasn't asleep." I glance at my dusty alarm clock. "I suppose zree in ze morning is our time, isn't it?"

"Looks like it." He holds out his hand. "Let's go for a walk."

And there isn't any way I can tell him no, is there? Because Damien always gets what he wants.

I pick up my shovel.

"Leave it," he says. "You won't need it where we're going."

"I always take my shovel wiz me."

He smiles with his drowning eyes. "You'll be safe with me, Christophe."

I set it down next to Gregory and accept his offered hand.

The snowfall has finally stopped, leaving behind a fresh layer of powder that _snicks _with every step. I try to pull my hand away but his grip on my fingers tightens.

"I'm sorry about Noah," he says. "It was out of line for him to attack you."

I scowl. "You should be sorry. Zat was entirely your fault."

He snickers. "Most people would say, 'oh, no, it's okay, it's his fault, not yours."

"Fuck zat sheet, it 'urt like 'ell. And 'e wouldn't 'ave given a damn about me if not for you."

He laughs. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I won't let it happen again."

"It better not."

"I'll protect you if you let me," he says.

I tense. "I don't need protection."

"I have enemies, and they'll go after you if they can't get to me."

"So don't do _zis_." I hold up our still-connected hands. "Keep our relationship strictly profession and I'll be fine. If I get 'urt, it will be because of you."

He stops walking. I halt next to him.

"But I don't want to do that," he says.

"Let me go," I say.

"You don't understand," he says. "I can keep you safe and sheltered. You just have to let me look after you."

"You want to control me," I spit at him. "Because you find me interesting, or somezing. Because I won't do what you say and you're not used to zat and you _need_ to get what you want."

He grabs my shoulders and I only have a half-second warning before he kisses me.

His mouth still tastes like ash, inhuman and malignant. This time I struggle and turn my head away. He kisses my jaw and neck and collarbone, biting, drawing blood.

I wrench free of his grasp and run.

My arms and legs pump at a full sprint. Adrenaline course through my body. I'm gasping within seconds, blindly racing through the snow, and I slow when I realize he's not falling me.

I glance behind me. My footsteps leave deep imprints in the snow. The flakes are falling again. Water looms in front of me, and for a second I mistake it for Stark's Pond. But the area around Stark's Pond is densely wooded. Here, houses are planted right on the edge of the bank. There are even a couple houses on stilts. Chunks of ice float in the water.

The silence here softens at the edges. None of the houses have their lights on. The moon is twice the size of a harvest moon, yellow and monstrous in the sky. I shiver.

"Where am I?" I say aloud.

"This is my city," Damien murmurs next to me. I flinch and take a step back.

"I invented it when I was a child. It was perfect because I had all the wonders of modern civilization, and I didn't need to worry about sharing it with anyone, or anyone taking it away from me. You should feel honored I let you come here."

"Is zis place real?"

"Yes. Sometimes." The cuts on his lips have already healed, leaving only reddish-brown streaks on his chin.

"I'm going 'ome,"

He grabs my shoulder.

"Not now I've finally caught you." His words are teasing, but his eyes are glowing.

"Are we going to go zrough zis again? Because I'll give you a straight answer. I won't let you shelter me or control me. It's let me go or _force_ me."

I glare at him, my eyes narrowed.

"You don't know what you're saying," he says.

"I do. I'm not an idiot. I've talked to Kenny and I _know_ what you did to 'im." My arms are shaking now, the words coming out slurred and biting.

"Do you feel proud of yourself for destroying 'umans? You, wiz all your power, playing wiz people who can't fight back."

"It's what we demons do," he says. "We fuck with your lives. It's why we were put on the earth."

"To me it seems like you're too weak to do battle down in 'ell, zat you go after us because we can't possibly compare. You're pathetic."

He grabs me by the neck. I choke and open my mouth like a dying fish, but no air comes in.

"I find it endearing how much you fight," he says, "but everyone needs a breaking point. If I can't find yours, then there's no point in keeping you around."

He drags me over to the lake. I start screaming insults in French, thrashing in his grip. There's no one here but us in the world he owns.

He dunks me into the freezing icewater.

I cry out. Bubbles swarm around my head. The water floods my mouth and nose and lungs. I kick out, trying to connect with something solid, but he keeps me steady below the surface. I'm begging the water now, but the lake sweeps away my voice. It feels like I'm part of another world here, where the sand below me is dark and the water oh so very cold. I fight until the energy leaves me, and I think, _he has to let me up now, he has to,_ but he holds me under until my vision is gone, until my thoughts are fading, until there's nothing, nothing, nothing left.

And later-

-later I'm vaguely aware of a pressure on my lips. something pounding on my chest, and then all the water comes up and I roll over and hack up about ten gallons' worth. I'm safely on the bank. Some part of my mind processes _run!_, so I try for my feet but collapse, falling into the snow.

A hand on my shoulder, holding me down.

"If you don't have a breaking point," a voice whispers, "I'll hold you back under, and this time I won't let you back up."

I shake up my head and sob something that might vaguely resemble a _no._ I can make out colors now; a dark blur in front of my eyes, and sharp pinpoints of red.

Something warm picks me up. I cling to the heat, burying my head into the fabric, still gasping for air. Because if I ever had a breaking point, this is it.

We enter warmth and light. I'm set against something soft. I'm still shivering violently, almost to the point of vibrating. The blurs turn into shapes. Damien's face looms inches from my nose. I shut my eyes.

He kisses me. Whatever strength I possessed has drowned along with my willpower. I let him push me back into the bed. His icy fingers tear at my jacket. My extremities sting as they warm. I focus on the pain, because my thawing mind can't handle much else.

He feels like fire, and the heat makes this not nearly as terrifying, so I let him hold me and my shivering fades.

He slides my jeans off my legs. His hands trace over the scars on my skin. I could name the scars like constellations if my mind were working. _Gunshot. Dog bite. Barbed wire. Infected knife wound. _I watch him through half-lidded eyes. This isn't so bad, I decide.

This isn't so bad.

And the world is moving too fast.

The room is bright - we're in a house somewhere-

His eyes- clouded and bright at the same time-

He is so warm, and I feel so cold -

He can make it hurt -

_It's better if I consent _-

I don't want -

Don't want-

"Stop!"

I kick out and catch him in the ribs. He looks almost surprised as I scramble away from him.

"Don't. Fucking. Touch me."

Then I roll off the bed and run.

Out of the bedroom. Down the stairs. We're in the living room of the house on 659 Hemingway Street. My hands close on the doorknob.

He grabs me around the waist and hauls me back. I'm screaming again, even though I know it's useless-

"Somebody! _Anyone!_ 'Elp!"

He throws me to the ground and his boot comes up and smashes down on my knee with inhuman strength, and I bend over and _wail _as my kneecap shatters, high and piercing and _it hurts_-

"I'll heal you up if you stop fighting."

"Go - fuck - yourself-" I hiss out through clenched teeth.

He pulls me up by my hair and slams my head head back against the wall. My vision spots and he uses the opportunity to drag me up the staircase by my wounded leg.

I beg now.

"_Please!_" and "_No, god, someone help me!_" and "Let me go, if you 'ave any fucking 'umanity-"

- ("I don't) -

_"I'm sorry I'm so sorry just don't hurt me"_

(senseless sobbing)

He throws me on the bed and pins me down before I can claw for the door again, forces me onto my stomach and starts biting his way down my back.

"This will hurt less if you stop _moving_-"

"_Stop stop stop please oh god please someone please please please_-"

He slams another punch into my head, which shuts me up for a few seconds. His fingers are curling under the waistband of my boxers by the time my thoughts come back.

"_He likes you. Use that. Use whatever you can._"

_"Make him not want to break you."_

"Wait for a second!" The words come out shaky and almost incomprehensible. "Just, just, just _wait, _okay, fucking _wait_."

Miraculously, he stops moving.

"What?" he demands.

"I - I -" _Use whatever you can._ "I want to make a deal."

"A deal?" He snorts laughter. "This should be interesting.

He lets me up and I scramble back against the headboard, laboring to breathe, my vision spotty. He's stripped down to only a pair of jeans, and even in the dim light I can see how much stronger he is.

I try to speak but the pain in my leg stops me, makes me struggle to even think.

"I'm waiting." He laughs.

"Let me _zink_. Kenny said, Kenny said - you like me."

He narrows his eyes. "Yeah, I think you're interesting. But that doesn't mean anything."

"Wouldn't you like it better if -" I swallow down a cry of pain. "If I agreed to sleep wiz you, if it were consensual."

"I was _going_ for that, but you had to be all like, 'no, don't rape me!'" He rolls his eyes.

I clench my teeth. "Okay. _Okay._ I won't 'ave sex wiz you right now-"

He shifts position and I freak out, pressing myself farther up against the headboard.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Just give me a second! Give me a fucking second! I said right now, as in zis very moment! Zat is because I can't just forget 'ow much you 'ave 'urt me. But if you were to give me some time, and were to allow me to get used to you, zen maybe I could work myself up to it."

There are tears in my eyes.

"Please," I mumble despite myself. "It 'urts - "

"What are you proposing?" he says, ignoring the little whimpers coming from me.

A plan, I need a plan.

"I control the pace. I will tell you when I am ready for ze next step. You don't touch me unless I say it's okay."

"Why would I agree to that when I could just fuck you right here and now?"

My shoulders shake as I draw in a deep breath.

"Because you _like_ me," I say. "And you find me interesting. And you want to win. I know your type. You need to possess everything zat catches your eye. And you can rape me. I am certain you can overpower me in any state. But you'll never have my mind, you'll never break me to ze point where you broke Kenny. I will never be willing. So you won't win, in ze end, if you force me now."

He scowls. "So you're saying I have to be what, fucking patient?"

"I'm saying _give me time_."

He looks at me thoughtfully, then he leans over me and kisses me gently. Warmth floods from him, through my body and into my wounded knee. I almost give into him right then as the pain starts to fade. I put my arms around his neck and hold on as he heals me.

"Better?" he asks me after the last of the honey warmth has left me.

He straddles my waist slowly. My head is propped up on the pillows, and he leans back until he's almost sitting in my lap. The minutes tick past as my mind recovers from the shock and pain and the adrenaline levels die down.

"I want you," he murmurs. "How much are you willing to give me?"

In response, I prop myself up on my elbows and press my lips to his, mouth closed like a child would kiss. He starts to move back against me.

"No!" I pull away. "I said _I control ze pace_!"

He stops and lets me continue my child-kisses. After a few I rest my head back against the pillows again and open my eyes.

"So we can kiss?" he murmurs, in the same voice that was threatening my death a few minutes ago. I force down the fear rising in my stomach, and somehow bob my head up and down.

"We can kiss. But nozing past second base, and _stop when I tell you to stop_."

He attacks me feverishly. The honey warmth starts to spread through me again, and my energy returns, enough for me to remember my part of the deal and kiss him back. _You're giving him what he wants_. I shut down the voice of self-hatred. This is the only way I'll live through this.

I tell him stop after what feels like hours, when I can't force down the fear anymore and it's so strong it weighs down my limbs. We lie next to each other on the bed for some immeasurable amount of time, sticky with sweat and breathless.

It is so very warm like this.

I doze. He snaps me out of my stupor by climbing back into bed next to me and waving a slice of order-in pizza in front of my nose. The upheaval of the last few hours hits me. I eat until I feel sick.

"I feel so weak," I mutter. Sunlight has just started to seep through the cracks under his curtains. My mouth tastes like ash. The room reeks of it.

"Oh," he says. "I forgot about that. It takes humans a lot of energy to be, well, close to us. You're going to be exhausted for a few hours. Maybe up to a day."

"A day?" I roll around to face him. "Are you kidding me? I 'ave sheet I 'ave to do! Zis can't be a regular zing or I'll be pazethic all ze time!"

"Your body will get used to being around me," he assures me. "Happened to Kenny."

I curl my spine up against the curve of his stomach again. His arm is thrown casually over my shoulder as we spoon.

_"Kenny's been no fun since I turned him suicidal-_"

I could be free of him if I killed myself.

But I want to live, goddamn it, that's why I came up with this stupid idea.

I will deal with the nauseating fear of him and the slowly-creeping self-hatred if it means if I get to live.

"That was nice," he admits, murmuring against my back.

"Breaking my kneecap?" I demand. Phantom pain still echoes over my leg.

"No. Well, that, too. But being with a human who actually wanted to be with me - or was good at pretending. Even Kenny - after I broke him he didn't have any fire in him anymore. It was boring. And you humans can tell I'm not one of you when you get too close. Demons are no fun to play with because all we want to do is hurt each other. But that was _nice_."

He hugs me against him, and it occurs it me that Damien is desperately lonely.

_Use whatever you can._

"So you're willing to wait for me?" My eyelids are slipping closed. I know I'm stupid to trust him even an inch, but I'm _so_ tired and he is _so _warm -

"Not for too long," he says. Then, "Hey, sorry about almost killing you. It won't happen again, I promise."

I hear the smirk in his voice.

"You're lying."

He snickers. "You'll just have to find out."


	2. Chapter 2

Well, this update is late. Partially because of AP testing, partially because I wrote half a novel of original fiction, and also because the subplots kind of exploded on me, like they usually do. This chapter is twice as long as it was supposed to be. Thus, I moved an arc into the next chapter because I didn't want to make this one a hundred pages long, ahahahah.

Thank you for all the reviews/faves/whatevers/ on the last chapter! It really means a lot to me.

* * *

Music:

_I Will Possess Your Heart_ - Death Cab for Cutie

_Help! I'm Alive_ - Metric

_A Prescription for Mankind_ - Spinnerette

* * *

**Part 2 of 3**

* * *

Gregory's sitting on the front step of our apartment building, smoking. His eyes are red and shadowed. He looks up when the snow crunches under Damien's feet.

"'E'll probably overreact," I mutter. "Don't 'urt 'im."

Damien snickers and shifts his grip on me. The fatigue has only just begun to fade, and combined with the energy expenditure that comes from fighting for my life, I haven't been able to walk. Since he doesn't have a car, he insisted on carrying me. I have to admit that his arms stave off the cold.

Gregory stomps towards us, aiming his gun between Damien's eyes. "_What did you do to him_?"

"Relax." Damien sets me on my feet. I stagger and fall into him. My knees give out. His arm goes around my shoulders, holding me up.

"Christophe? Christophe, are you okay?"

"Don't shoot." I stretch out my hand and he grabs it, yanking me away from Damien. I collapse against his shoulder and have to cling to him to stay on my feet.

"What did you do to him?" He steps back, pulling us further away.

"He's fine," Damien says, sticking his hands into his pockets. "He'll need to sleep for a while. And he might need therapy." He smiles at me. "See you tomorrow night?"

"Just go away now," I snap at him.

He snickers and turns his back on us, striding down the street back towards his house.

"Christophe? Christophe? Where did he hurt you? What happened to your legs?"

He tosses his gun to the ground to help lead me into the apartment building, up the elevator, and to our flat. I take tiny steps like an old man, trembling all over.

"I'm okay. I just need to sleep." A level of brokenness seeps into my voice against my will. "Just let me sleep."

"I'll _kill_ him," he says as he settles me onto the couch in the living room. "I'm going to kill that bastard." His tone is inflectionless. "Is there anything you need?"

"I - I'm okay - "

He hugs me suddenly, face buried into my chest. He might be crying. I pat the back of his head awkwardly.

"I made a deal wiz 'im," I say.

He looks up at me. Yeah, definitely crying.

"Did you manage to keep him from hurting you?"

I shake my head, teeth gritted. "Don't do anything rash zat you'll regret. Please. I'll explain more later. I just need to sleep now."

* * *

It all comes back in the dreams.

Drowning - cold - water everywhere - warmth - touching - _let me go _- pain - ohgod the pain and I'm sorry and-

* * *

Remember:

Damien always gets what he wants.

* * *

I wake curled on my side, shaking. I breathe in the scent of home and stare at the side of the couch for a few minutes. Then I roll over.

Gregory is sitting in a chair opposite me, smoking what, from the butts littering the floor, appears to be his second pack of cigarettes. He stares at the foot of the couch and doesn't look up at me.

"What time is it?"

My voice is raspy from all the screaming I did last night.

"About four in the afternoon."

He stubs his cigarette out on the tray that usually only I use.

"I'm hungry," I say.

He shrugs apologetically. "We don't have any food in the flat."

I swing my legs off the couch. "I'll go get some."

"Shouldn't you be resting?"

"Damien said it would wear off after a couple of 'ours. I feel fine."

"What would wear off?"

I explain almost everything to him, leaving out a few things, like the fear, and how close he was to breaking me.

He sits back in his chair and breathes out heavily.

"You're playing with a forest fire," he says. "Do you think you have any control over him?"

"No. 'E's pretending zat I 'ave some for ze moment - but I'm not stupid. 'E's a liar. 'E'll strike back when I least expect it."

"You're stuck, aren't you?"

I nod, because it's true. Damien owns me now. I have a leash on him but the chain is around _my _neck.

"You're trapped."

He hides his face in his hands.

"On ze plus side," I say, "I zink 'e might know more about ze demon blood distribution."

"Are you joking?" He stands and flings out his arms. "I don't give a damn about that anymore!"

We just stare at each other for a few seconds. Then my stomach rumbles.

He pulls a couple twenty dollar bills from his pocket. "I can go get it-"

"I'm ze only decent cook around 'ere." I take the money from him. "And I want to do somezing normal for once."

"I'll be here when you get back." He settles down in his chair and opens another pack of cigarettes. I steal one from him before heading out the door.

* * *

My luck is just fantastic. As I'm waiting for my turn at the cash register, Kyle and Kenny jump into line behind me.

"Oh, hey, dude," Kyle says.

I glance at him, nod tersely, and start to unload the contents of my basket. The basics: milk, eggs, bread. Then I set down ace bandaging, disinfectant, and a sewing kit. Kyle nods, no doubt thinking it's for my mercenary job. Kenny knows better. He pushes his hood down.

(_Can't always trust Damien to heal me up after, I have cuts on my neck that he left to remind me-_)

"Woah, dude," Kyle says as I set a tube of - _ick_ - lubrication on the conveyor belt. (Because I know the bastard will make it painful if he can). "Did you finally get a girlfriend?"

I glare at him.

"Kyle," Kenny says.

"Or, uh," Kyle glances from side to side. "You and Gregory?"

I make a gagging noise. Kyle and I laugh together. Kenny doesn't.

The cashier rings up my purchase. I accept my shopping bags and start for the door. Kyle and Kenny catch up with me before I head out into the snow.

"Hey," Kyle says. "How much have you and Gregory gotten on the demon thing since the last time we talked?"

"I told you," Kenny says, licking his lips. "Ms. Steven's death hasn't yielded anything-"

"Goddamn it!" Kyle runs his fingers through his hair. "How much am I paying you two, anyway?"

"Not enough," I mutter, knowing full well that as an interning medical student commuting twenty miles every day, he can't afford to pay our full rate. "And we do 'ave somezing new. A lead zat might play out. You'll 'ave to be patient. But I think we've made a real breakthrough."

His eyes widen. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." We enter the cold. Wind whips through my hair. I wrap my scarf tighter around my neck. "I'll let you know when we 'ave anyzing definite."

"God, Mole. You don't know how important this is. My brother- " He swallows hard.

"Oui, I know." I reach out and pat his shoulder in a gesture that is intended to be comforting but probably fails. "It will be all right."

"Hey, Ky," Kenny says. "Mole and I need to talk about mercenary things. Since I'm helping them out. It'll only be a second."

Kyle shrugs. "Okay. I'll go pull the car around."

We stand in front of the grocery story, shivering.

"I think Bebe's taking the demon blood," Kenny says.

I blink. "What?" I thought he wanted to talk about . . . something else.

"She came back for her mother's funeral the other day. She was acting loopy and daydreamy, so I searched through her bags and found empty vials with a couple of blue streaks in it."

"Oh. Sheet." I think about it. "But-"

"Yeah, I know. She goes to Colorado School of Mines in Colorado Springs. In South Park a lot of the younger population is under the influence of the demon blood, but in outside of our community it's mostly the middle-aged who are conned into taking it, because of the drug's slow-acting effects. It's definitely not a party drug, so teenagers aren't attracted to it."

"At ze meeting Gregory and I spied on ze ozzer night, ze demons were talking about spreading zeir influence to ze younger generation." I loop my scarf around my neck a second time. "We didn't zink anyzing of it. Damn it, why did we not notice zat -"

"They're spreading their gap. Trying to increase to army to the younger and generation. Not the people with power like we were first thinking. The better fighters."

I nod grimly in agreement.

"But Bebe-"

"I don't know why her mother would let her become an addict. I'll have to look into that. I'll ask my boss for the weekend off, tail her back at school."

"Seriously? You would?"

He hesitates. "Bebe and I had a . . . thing, once. I owe her this much. She might not be in her right mind if she's taking the demon blood, but I can't let her become one of those zombies."

Case in point, Tweek Tweak shuffles past us on the sidewalk opposite us, muttering to himself.

"Tweek's not ze best example."

"Yeah, but you know what I mean. I'll investigate while you two continue to track their meeting places all over town. And follow up on your new lead, I guess."

"Yeah," I say, my stomach twisting. "I guess."

We're silent for a moment, thinking through our own dark horrors. "How are you holding up?"

"Okay." I shrug. The deal is too complicated to explain, and I know it won't matter in the end.

He touches my arm. "It gets easier. And no matter what, don't let him win."

_Translation: Stay alive._

"Oranges help the exhaustion."

"Ze kind you get from after -"

"Yeah, that kind. I don't know why, but eating an orange always cut my recovery time in half." He shrugs. "The tiredness will get better. In about a month it'll be down to about an hour with the oranges, which won't go away no matter how long you're with him."

"Zirty days?"

I want to say that I'll have figured out some way to free myself by then, that a whole month isn't possible, but then I look at Kenny and I see that it is.

Kyle pulls up in a green subaru. "Keep me posted!" he calls as Kenny jumps in.

"I will. Kenny?"

"I'll call you with the results of my infiltration," he says, rolling down the window to talk to me. "And Christophe?"

"Yeah?"

"Be as strong as you have to be, but let him have what he wants. You'll hurt for it if you don't."

Kyle peers at him, but Kenny just shrugs. "Good luck!" Kyle calls after me, waving as he drives away.

"Zanks," I mutter to myself. I'm going to need it.

* * *

The next day passes with relative quiet. Gregory is still sulking when I get home, and all through dinner. I receive an email from a potential client in Boulder about a stalker, and make plans to drive north when the weekend rolls around. Gregory leaves, stops back at the flat at about twelve, saying he was at the shooting range, and goes to bed.

I haven't been able to fall asleep before two since I was in elementary school. Damien has only made me more paranoid. I double-check the motion alarm by the door and in the windows to make sure no one can get in. Gregory has had the glass replaced, and even though I know it won't help against a spiritual being, it still comforts me. The run-in with Noah taught me that not only do I have to contend with Damien, I have to fight off his enemies.

I go through my training regime of push-ups and sit-ups. I fire off an email to a shaman in Norway to see what she knows about killing demons. I play fucking farmville.

I pass out at maybe four and wake after noon. Gregory is reading a stack of heavy files by the time I stumble into the kitchen.

"I thought you'd died in there this time," he says.

"We can't all wake up at six," I mumble, although part of me is glad he can joke. I start myself a pot of coffee and start to shuffle through the fridge. "We 'ave sheet to talk about."

He closes his file. "We do."

"Not /zat./ Well, almost. Ze ozzer night I snuck over to Damien's after ze surveillance to pry information out of 'im."

"I remember."

I stick my leftover pizza in the microwave. "Well, I don't zink I told you zis, but I got somezing."

He purses his lips and waits.

"Damien told me zat ze only kind of demon blood capable of controlling 'umans to the point of brainwashing is royal blood. Zat means Satan is involved in zis. _Satan._ I zink ze ruler of 'ell is trying to raise an army to take over Earth."

"Are you sure it isn't Damien?"

"No. But if it is Damien be'ind all zis, zen _nozing _makes sense and 'e is a damn good liar. I don't trust ze ass'ole very far. But I don't zink it is 'im."

He chews his lips for a second, thinking, then nods with a sigh. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time Satan's tried to do this, and we've stopped him before."

"I died the last time."

He scoffs. "Not permanently. If the demon blood distribution really does lead to something this serious, then we'll have to take definitive action against it." He taps his fingers against the table. "Shall we revive La Resistance?"

In the past decade or so, we've called upon the children to help us with propaganda, spying, and guerilla warfare whenever our current mission requires more manpower. To Gregory, they're just another one of his contacts.

. . . except for Stan. He hates Stan.

"I don't know what 'elp zey could be right now," I say.

"I was thinking they could help us round up the demon-blood addicts in the town. So we could question the addicts without fear of the brainwashed chasing us down again."

"Zey 'ave brainwashed demon-blood addicts all over ze country now, it's no use. But keep zat idea, it might work in ze future." I pull my pizza from the microwave, pour myself a mug of coffee, and sit down across from him. "I was zinking of Damien."

He tenses. "What about him?"

"'E would be able to get us down to 'ell. Stop ze distribution at its source."

"That sounds incredibly dangerous-"

It's my turn to scoff. Despite himself, he laughs.

"And why would he help us in the first place? He's the antichrist. No doubt he supports whatever his father is doing."

"Actually, 'e seemed fairly ambivalent when explaining to me," I say. "I don't zink 'e likes 'is fazzer very much. But he likes me."

He sighs. "Christophe, while I respect your natural abilities as a fighter and your loyalness as a partner, you are not skilled in the field of manipulation. I personally believe I would have more luck in that regard, except for that-"

"'It's me 'e wants to fuck," I mutter, with no small amount of bitterness.

Awkward silence for a second.

"You barely have any footing on him right now," Gregory says. "If you start lying, make him start doubting his trust in you-"

"I know," I snap. "I know. I know I'm desperate as it is, but I can't just lie back and wait for 'im to _drown _me. I'm going to ask 'im if 'e would be willing to 'elp us out. 'E says ze price for 'is 'elp is forty-zree virgins. I'm 'oping my charm will suffice."

I down the last of my coffee and stand.

"You're leaving right now?"

"'E wants to see me every day." I shrug. "Don't wait up."

We've been a team for almost two decades. He knows me well enough to see that behind the calm shell, I want to run for my life. I know him well enough to know that inside, he's screaming for me to flee.

* * *

I knock on the door to the house on 659 Hemingway Street and wait in the abject silence. The noise of traffic in the distance has faded to a dull blur. South Park always seems so empty.

After a minute, I turn and start for the street again. Then I hear the door open.

Damien has scratch marks running over his cheek. Blood drips down his face. "Oh, hi, Christophe," he says cheerfully.

"Is zis a bad time?"

"We're not finished with our conversation yet!" a female voice cries from inside the house.

"No, it's perfectly fine, come on in," he says, and I have no choice but to follow him.

A woman a few years older than us sits at the kitchen table, her legs crossed under the frills of her ballroom dress. Her red hair is impossibly curly, and her teeth impossibly sharp. I stare at her. She stares back at me with glowing red eyes.

"Friend of yours?" I ask him.

He snickers. Then he says, "Yes. Call her Lily."

"I know you're _disgusted _by us demon nobility," Lily says, folding her arms under her breasts, "but that's still no reason to be rude."

"And that's still no reason to threaten me if I refuse to come back."

"I'm worried about you," she says. "You know what Noah is capable of-"

"I'm the fucking antichrist," he snarls. "I don't have to be afraid of anyone!"

The lights darken.

"I'm going to go home." I turn for the door.

He grabs my wrist, fingernails digging into my flesh. "Stay," he says, eyes narrowed and voice deep.

"Let me go, Damien."

"I said _stay._"

We glare at each other. His grip starts to hurt.

"Domestic dispute?" Lily says. "I'm afraid you haven't introduced me to your new toy."

"I'm not a fucking toy," I snarl.

Her lower lip curls. "Unlike Damien, you are not the son of Satan and have no excuse for addressing me improperly. Apologize."

I tell her to go do something too rude to put into text. I receive immense satisfaction from the widening of her eyes, but the satisfaction dies when Damien drags me from the kitchen.

"We're having a rather important conversation," he snaps, "and I don't want our fight to get physical. She _will _kill you if you piss her off. If you don't shut up I'm afraid it will. Go up to the bedroom and be quiet."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I wrench my arm from his grasp. "I don't 'ave to put up wiz zis bullsheet."

His expression is cold. "Except you do."

I step forward, fists clenched. His eyes glint, like he's daring me to even try.

"Cocksucking little beetch," I mumble as I stomp up the very stairs he dragged me up two nights ago. I sit at the top of the stairs with my back to railing, light a cigarette, and listen to them yell at each other.

"-I won't go back, not if it means putting up with your type-"

"-I'm the only friend you have down there. You're going to be the ruler of our world if you don't get killed first, you need better PR!"

"I've got _hundreds of years _until my father dies, I-"

"Demon memory is long. Sooner or later you're going to have to suck it up and face them."

"I'm _not _afraid of Noah."

"You should be. He's teamed up with Eve and Mary."

" . . . why would they help him?"

"To get to you! I'm telling you, Damien, it's dangerous when you don't have any friends on your side! Get down to demon court and start making friends!"

"I hate all of you!"

"Goddamn it!"

The door slams. I hear Damien punch something and yell in frustration. I run into his bedroom and sit there smoking like I haven't been listening in on their conversation.

He walks into the bedroom a few minutes later, arms crossed, still seething.

"So, ah, what was zat about?"

"I'm not stupid, Christophe. I know you were listening. I also know it was none of your business." He sits down next to me and pulls out his own pack of cigarettes. "Open the window, would you?"

"Except it is my business," I say, standing up to obey him. "Zis Noah character seems to 'ave some sort of problem wiz you. I 'ave a problem wiz 'im, since 'e seems to be intimately connected wiz ze demon blood trafficking." I blow smoke out the window, shivering a little from the cold. "Ze number of Drinkers is increasing. We 'ave to do somezing about it, or we won't get paid."

He snorts. "Well, I was already going to help you, anyway."

I blink. "What?" No way it's that fucking easy.

He shrugs. "Yeah. Like you said, they're connected. I'm going to have to confront Noah eventually if he won't stay out of my way."

"So you'll 'elp us cut off zeir distribution?"

He frowns and releases a puff of smoke. "I don't know. I don't want Noah to know I'm going after him. I want him to think I'm as blase as possible. But if he and the girls are working together - "

"Eve and Mary? Who are zey?"

"I knew you were listening, you bastard. And it's still none of your business." He smiles a little. "But just know I'll help you out a bit in return for a little something something."

"Did you seriously just say zat? Don't say sheet like zat. It doesn't fit your image - what are you _doing_?"

He stands up and moves towards me, pupils dilating as he focuses.

"Why do you think I called you over?" he murmurs. "The joy of your company?"

" . . .yes?"

"Well, that, too. But the real goal here is to _acclimatize _you to me." He snickers at the word choice and stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray on the desk.

Somehow I'm backed up against the wall. His right hand cups my cheek as he starts to move our faces closer-

"No."

He stops with his lips inches from mine. "No?"

"Not after you spoke to me like zat. I don't like you ordering me around."

He stares at me incredulously. It takes him a few seconds to speak.

"I'm the fucking antichrist. I've broken your arm and your _kneecap. _I could rape your ass right this very moment and you wouldn't be able to do anything to stop me. And your biggest issue is me _yelling _at you?"

"Don't do it any more," I say coldly.

"Can't promise you that, babe. But I need an explanation."

"No pet names. 'Babe' is just pathetic.'"

"What about concubine? Toy? Pet? No?"

"You're too close - _move_."

He reluctantly steps back a foot. "I still want an explanation."

"_Ordering _is not ze basis of a healthy relationship. I've 'ad enough shitty girlfriends and boyfriends-"

"You're into guys?" His eyes brighten. "Thank _God._ Kenny wasn't at all and the sex was _horrible_-"

"-to know zat zere has to be equal footing for it to work. Obviously, I am bullshitting myself if I zink zat anyzing about zis is _equal._ But I 'ave to fucking _pretend. _So move back."

He moves to sit on the bed again. "No one else has ever given me this much trouble." He snickers to himself. "You better give good head."

"Take a cold fucking shower," I say in disgust. "But since you were good just zen and let me go, I'll make you dinner."

I start down the stairs.

"Wait - seriously?" he calls after me.

* * *

He really does take a shower, and I really do make him dinner. He's gone shopping since the last time I raided his fridge, and I'm able to put together something resembling a meal.

"Oh, god," he mumbles through the food in his mouth. "How did you get so _good _at this?"

I shrug. "I 'aven't lived wiz my mozzer since I was ten. I 'ad to learn 'ow to fend for myself very quickly, and it wasn't like Gregory was going to cook, ze lazy ass'ole. Since we moved in togezzer we worked out a deal: I cook, 'e cleans."

He leans against me. We're sitting on the couch with the TV volume on mute since he says all the death on the news amuses him. I tense when I feel his weight, but force myself to relax. He's right. The point of this is to acclimatize myself.

"Why'd you leave home?"

"None of your business."

"Actually," he says, smirking, "it is my business. Tell me about yourself." The last words come out mockingly.

I snort. "Fine, zen. She was an over-controlling zealot and at ze tender age of ten I decided I knew enough about ze world to survive on my own. Also, I was a whiny little beetch and 'ated 'aving to say prayers before dinner."

"You hate God, too? What a surprise, we have so much in common!"

This actually makes me laugh. He sets his dishes on the coffee table and leans further into me, almost crushing me under his weight.

"You're 'eavy."

"You're _warm_.This is nice." He snuggles his nose into my shoulder.

We sit there in what would have been a comfortable silence if he were anyone else. I break it after a few seconds, with:

"Why did _you_ leave 'ome?"

"Didn't you hear? I don't like them."

"Zat's it?"

"Wasn't it good enough for you?"

Some part of me knows he's lying.

He continues to shift position, sneakily maneuvering himself so I'm on my back with him on top of me. My heart rate increases as my flight-or-fight response kicks in. I stare up at him, trying to keep the emotions out of my eyes.

"Hey, Christophe," he murmurs. "Can I kiss you?"

. . . at least he's asking. He least he's waiting for fucking _permission._

. . . and I know if I don't give it to him he'll take it sooner or later.

_I'm sorry I'm sorry just don't hurt me._

". . . oui."

Sometime later, we're both shirtless and breathless and I'm exhausted from being next to him for so long. He holds me around the waist with one arm and strokes through my hair with the other, pushing my face into his chest.

"Do you have any oranges?" I ask, my voice cracking mid-sentence.

"No," he murmurs. "I can get some for you next time, if you want. Kenny always used to eat them after. He said they helped the exhaustion. I'm assuming he told you?"

_Next time._ My heart thumps loudly. I swallow. "Zank you."

He shifts, pressing me closer against him.

"So this is a _relationship_?"

"What?"

"Earlier when you were pissed at me for yelling at you. You said shit about, like, healthy relationships."

"Everyzing is some sort of relationship."

"You know what I mean."

I wriggle free from his grasp and lean back against the couch. He watches me, propped up on his elbow wih half-lidded eyes.

"I don't know," I say. "I guess if zere were more . . . definition. To whatever zis is. Call it somezing ozzer zan a deal if you want."

"Hmm." He reaches out and tangles his fingers in mine. "You have to see me every day. That's a very boyfriend thing to do. You also made me dinner. And I've decided not to kill you for being such a disobedient slave. You should be honored."

"Don't you dare call me zat," I snap, wrenching my fingers from his. He reaches out to grab them again. I glare at him for a few seconds, then, when he's just about to snatch them up in a clench, I relinquish my fingers to his grip. Surprised, he tangles our fingers together loosely enough to keep it from hurting.

"Okay," he says. "I won't call you that. It's not nice. So, what else. What if I flirted with someone else? What would you think?"

I shrug. Is this leading where I think it's leading?

"What if I slept with someone else? Wouldn't you be the least little bit angry?"

I snort. So that's what he wants out of this. Trying to see if he can make me jealous. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

He sits up next to me. "No."

"You must 'ave misinterpreted ze events of ze last few days. To clarify. You nearly drowned me, tortured me, and attempted to rape me. I am 'ere to save my own skin, not because I want to be."

His eyes are darkening.

"I am more scared of you zan I 'ave ever been of anyone else in my entire life. Murderers and terrorists do not compare to you. Does zat make you 'appy? Was zat your goal?"

"No," he says quietly.

"Well, I am. I would be _relieved _if you slept wiz someone else, because it would mean zen maybe you would leave me alone."

I try to stand up, but the exhaustion swamps me and I fall down next to him again. His eyes are focused on my neck. It occurs to me that I am entirely at his mercy.

"It was stupid of me to ask," he says.

"Yeah, it was."

"It's just, I like you."

"Fucking show it, zen. Stop scaring me!" I try to stand again. He catches me before I fall.

"Stay the night," he says. "I - I won't try anything. Just sleep next to me."

I'm tempted to say no, but I see the expression on his face and again, I see how desperately lonely he is inside.

_Use whatever you have._

"Don't try anything," I warn.

"I won't," he promises, and I have no choice but to believe him.

* * *

Damien sleeps with me clutched against him like a teddy bear.

I stare at the sliver of moonlight on his bedroom floor. He managed to coerce more kisses out of me before he fell asleep, and the exhaustion is so deep I'm in danger of passing out before midnight.

It feels warm in his arms, warm with his muscles constricting around me, with his ash-flavored breath on the back of my neck.

I try to worm my way free to sleep more comfortably, but he only clutches harder. I settle against his chest, resign myself to a night spent like this, and wonder how I could have ever imagined I have any control over him.

* * *

(and somehow, time still passes)

* * *

"Okay," Kenny says. "She's here. Pretend like you don't know anything."

"We'll have to confront her," Gregory says. "You want us to help her, don't you? Helping people addicted the demon blood is usually not a pleasant experience."

"I don't want to scare her off!"

Bebe peers around the corner into the kitchen. "Uh . . . hi?" she says. Gregory and Kenny continue to glare at each other.

"You're addicted to ze demon blood," I say, ending the argument. Gregory smirks triumphantly at Kenny.

Her eyes widen and she stares open-mouthed for a second. Then she turns on Kenny, hands raised in fists.

"You _told _them? That what something personal and terrifying to admit, and you _told _them?"

"Sweetheart, they're going to help you," he mumbles, pushing the hood down.

"I don't need to be helped-"

"Why don't we have a rational discussion about this. We can exchange accusations later," Gregory suggests, leading her over to the couch in the living. He glances at me and I nod.

"I'm going out for a smoke," I announce.

Although Kenny says he's almost positive it's in the car, he hasn't managed to find Bebe's stash in the month since he told me about her addiction. Clearly, he isn't the Mole, because I find it after five minutes of prying through the battered Ford Explorer. A hole has been torn out of the driver's seat, some padding ripped out, and the box stuffed inside and hidden with stitching. I sit on the sidewalk to search through it.

The box is no bigger than my palm, but somehow she managed to cram a dozen vials of the red liquid inside of it. I open a vial, sniff it, and wince. It doesn't smell like blood, more like rotten cigarettes. I close it back up and catch sight of the notes buried in the bottom. They're all folded-up notebook paper and written in sparkly purple pen. Every single note has 'HIS HIS HIS' written over it in all caps. I gingerly put the notes down.

"Hey!" someone yells. I stand up and look back to see Gregory and Kenny carrying a struggling, tied-up Bebe out of the flat. "That's my stuff! He's looking through my stuff! _Don't take it it's mine don't take it!_

Gregory stuffs a rag into her mouth and helps Kenny get her into the Ford. She continues to wail muffled screams even as Kenny drives away.

"I trust it went well?" I say.

"Perfectly." He squats down next to me. "I challenged, she denied, we decided to keep her tied up until the effects of the blood wore off. We're also going to leave her with Kenny, because last time we kidnapped one of their Drinkers the demons threatened to kill us."

"Sounds good." I hand him the box. "What do you zink of zis sheet?"

"Demon blood," he says in satisfaction, though his eyebrows shoot up when he sees the notes. "Dementia?"

"I don't know."

"I'll have to run some tests on the blood." His eyes glimmer with excitement.

I stretch, swing my shovel around my body in an arc to warm my muscles, and slide it back into the strap over my back. "It's almost five. I 'ave to go."

He narrows his eyes. "Can't you take a day off? I want to go over this with you."

"I'm no good at zis chemical bullsheet and you know it. 'E'll be pissed if I'm not zere."

"But-" he starts to whine.

"I can't _'elp _it," I snap.

"I know," he says. "I'm sorry. Just -" He shakes his head. "Hurry home."

I nod and leave him to his experimentations. No one on the street has even noticed that we essentially kidnapped Bebe. South Park is interesting, sometimes.

* * *

"'Ey!" I yell, ramming my knuckles against the door. "Open up, you jackass, it's fucking cold out 'ere! 'Urry up and let me-"

The door yanks open and Damien drags me inside. I only have time to say, _"finally!" _before he slams the door and throws me up against it, crashing his lips down on mine. I am unalarmed, since he's been greeting me like this for weeks. I wrap my legs around his hips and kiss him back fully. He makes a sound of appreciation and kisses for a few more seconds before pulling back to let me breathe.

"Thank _God_ you're here. I've had a horrible day."

"I'm supposed to make it better?"

"You're better than nothing," he says, snickering, and starts to kiss me again.

"Zank you?" I snicker at his reply and let him push me up against the door. After a few minutes he shifts me so he's carrying me in a bridal style and bounds up the stairs.

"Jesus Christ! Careful!" I yelp as he tosses me down on the bed and straddles me. Sometimes his strength startles me.

"Sorry," he mumbles, pressing his lips to my temple in an apology.

My hands go around his shoulders. "Was it really zat bad? What 'appened?"

"Humans giving me shit for being so young. If only I could just kill them! But I can't, it sucks, I need them because they're good at their job."

I pat his head. "You're ze youngest CEO your company's ever 'ad - you 'ave to deal with ze bullshit zat comes along wiz it."

He says he works as a way to better understand humans. He commutes every day to the headquarters of American Lifetime Insurance in Denver. When he told me his job, I laughed for about two hours. It was just so _perfect._ What other job would be better for the antichrist?

"Why can't all humans be like you?" he mumbles into my neck.

"Seriously? Do you zink zat would be a good idea?"

"No - I mean, I could do without the bitchy stubbornness-"

"'Excuse me-"

"But, like, you're to the point. I like that part about you."

"Are you trying to be romantic? It's not working."

"Shut up, Christophe."

He's in a good mood today, despite his claims about a sucky day at work. On bad mood days, I have to watch out for biting words, for slaps and punches and subtle threats that he could break the deal any second and just _force_ me already. On good mood days it's easy and almost pleasant to be around him. I relax a bit.

We're conditioning ourselves to the other's moods.

After a month of this, I've grown used to him.

(Although the nightmares of my broken kneecap and the screaming and sobbing and him just ignoring me - those never go away).

He pushes our lips back together. His hands trap my wrists above my head. I mutter something about 'psychotic sadist antichrist cocksucker', and he smiles against my mouth. I smile back. For some reason, shared smiles make kissing him that much more tolerable. He's heavier than me by a considerable amount, and his weight upon my stomach makes me feel trapped. I swallow down the feeling and keep my eyes closed.

Gradually, he coaxes me into opening my mouth. It occurs to me that I'm exchanging spit with who could very well be my worst enemy.

It depends on how you describe an enemy. He scares me more than anyone else ever has; does that count?

"Ummm," he mutters. "Why do you smell like demon blood?" He sniffs. "Royal demon blood-"

He grabs my shoulders, eyes wide. "You didn't drink any, did you?" he demands.

"No! Do you zink I'm an idiot?" I stay relaxed against the pillows even though every instinct is screaming for a _fight._ "We might 'ave made a slight breakzrough in ze whole demon-blood-trafficking case zing, ze one zat you 'ave been very un'elpful in despite all your claims about being 'elpful."

"It's not that easy, it's about politics and you know it," he says. "What happened?"

"Kenny's sort-of-girlfriend is one of ze Drinkers. 'E 'elped us find 'er stash. Gregory's going to analyze, zen we'll try to see what we can do wiz it."

"Kenny has a girlfriend?" He frowns. "That's surprising."

"Why?" I demand, a slight hitch in my voice, because I know the answer.

"You didn't see him after I was done with him." He smiles to himself. "You should have seen his eyes, all bloodshot and yellow with major-ass bags. He even stopped crying after a few years. He was all robotic. I thought he would never recover. I guess he has, a little bit."

"Can we not talk about zis?" I start to push him off me. He grabs my wrists and forces them back again.

"Why - oh, you think you're gonna end up like him. Don't worry about that."

"Why not?" I demand.

He stares at me for a second, then lightly kisses my jaw.

"Because I _care _about you."

"I don't believe you," I say, but I don't want to talk about this anymore because it's reminding that I'm just putting off the inevitable. I cup his chin and drag his lips back to mine. He makes a shocked noise when I roll over on top of him, then smiles against me again. As much as he likes dominating me, he likes it more when I take the lead, maybe as some sort of affirmation that I don't completely hate him.

I'll give him this: when he wants to be, he is a very good kisser.

Within a few minutes we're both panting, sweaty messes. He bumps his hips an inch.

"Hey, Christophe," he mutters.

"What?" I roll over so I'm lying next to him, noses almost touching.

"I think you should get me off."

I snicker. "Under what circumstances do you zink I would agree to zat?"

"I would really enjoy it," he pleads.

I sigh. "Okay."

"Wait, what? Yes?"

"Yes. Take off your pants."

"_Wait._ I'm confused now. I was just shooting that out there. I didn't think you'd actually - " His expression is so disoriented that I laugh.

I pull off the glove on my right hand. He watches me with half-lowered eyelids, keeps watching even as I slide my hand up his shirt and feel his abdominals.

"I don't understand," he mutters.

I shrug. "Well, zis is a deliberately sexual act. But you've been good enough in ze past few weeks zat I semi-trust you not to take advantage of zat fact."

"So you're not afraid of me anymore?" he says hopefully.

My fingers trail under the waistband of his jeans. His pupils dilates and he grins.

And it's less terrifying than I thought it would be, perhaps because with just my hand I can act like it's a fairly impersonal sex act. Sure, I get to see plenty of him. How his eyes scrunch closed. How he makes whimpering, "please oh god please faster" noises. How his entire body shudders.

But in this sort of situation, I am the one in control and he is at my mercy. This I can stomach. He doesn't see any of me when we do this; perhaps that's why, when he's finished and we've cleaned ourselves off, and he suggests he do the same to me, I react almost violently.

"Are you fucking crazy?"

He rolls over so we're lying side-by-side, facing each other, breath in each others' faces. I try to glare at him, but I've been too close to him for too long and can't work up the energy.

"C'mon, Christophe," he says, smiling lazily. He reaches out with one hand and lets his palm trail over my groin. "That got you hard."

"Fuck you." I roll over, press my face into the mattress, and will for it to go away.

"I'm trying to pay you back here," he says, and he honestly sounds like he means it.

"Unnmpph," I mumble.

He grabs my shoulder, rolls me back over to face him, and kisses me breathless. My heart rate accelerates to double. Against my will, I make a positive 'uhhnn' sound, which he must take as some sort of confirmation, because he places his palm over my groin again and gives a deliberate push.

My hips buck. He pushes again. Everything is a _rush. _All of a sudden I'm consumed with an aching need for _more,_ more of Damien, more pressure-

I tear myself away from him and crash off the bed. My legs are still too weak to walk, so I crawl into the bathroom and lock the door before Damien figures out my intention.

"What the fuck?" he yells.

"I told you not to touch me!"

"You _liked _it!"

"It was a simple physical reaction. It doesn't mean I wanted it."

He lets loose a frustrated growl. From the sound of his voice, he's standing on the other side of the door.

"What is your problem, Christophe? You never give me _anything._ That was the first time I've ever gotten a reaction out of you, when you've seen me breathless and begging for more a dozen times and _you've never given it_. I was trying to do something _for _you and you just freaked. What is wrong with-"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I yell through the door. "Do you 'ave any idea how teriffied I am to even be in the same room as you? You 'eld me under the water until I passed out! You broke my kneecap! It 'urt worse than anything else 'as ever 'urt in my entire life! I've _died_ before and what you did to me still hurt more. And the only way I can keep it from happening again is agreeing to romantically and sexually engage myself with ze man who tried to rape me _twice._ I am fully aware of ze power you 'ave over me. You could break me _so _easily. You say I never give you anyzing? Bullshit! I am putting myself zrough zis even zough I know eventually you'll _own_ me, even zough all I want to do is run!"

I wait in the agonizing silence.

His words are icy. "So what are you going to do, jerk off in there?"

"I'm going to take a cold fucking shower, and if you respect me _at all _as a 'uman being then you will let me 'ave it in peace."

* * *

I guess he does, because he leaves me alone while I'm in the shower, and by the time I stumble downstairs he has attempted to make dinner.

"I peeled oranges for you." He points to the bowl without looking at me.

"Zank you." The water brought back some of my strength, but I still feel shaky and jttiery all over. I sit at the kitchen table and eat my oranges while he tries to cook.

"You're supposed to let it boil first."

"I know!"

"And put salt in."

"I know that, too!" He glowers at me before returning to the pot.

I can only resist the urge to critique for about thirty seconds. "You don't need to stir it until ze water starts to boil-"

"Christophe, shut the fuck up."

I shut the fuck up. About twenty minutes later, he has something resembling food on the table in front of me. I poke at it with my fork.

"It's not that bad. Just eat," he snaps.

I shrug and dig in. He's right, it's really not that bad, it only _looks_ mutated. His gaze follows me while I eat.

"Will you stop zat? It makes me feel uncomfortable."

"I want to make sure you like it! You're not saying anything!"

"You told me to 'shut ze fuck up'." I mimick his voice with narrowed eyes and a harsh edge to my words. "Don't you want me to do what you say?"

"Goddamn it, Chris." He throws his fork down. "You _know _I didn't mean it like that."

"Except you did."

He keeps watching me eat. About halfway through the plate, I place my fork on the table next to me and lean back in my chair.

"It . . ." I sigh. "It was passable. Good job."

"Thank you." He keeps on scowling.

"Look, what do you want from me?" I demand. "I am trying 'ere, you know I am."

"I know you are! It's just, arghh!" He throws up his hands. "I don't know. I don't know why I even bother with this stupid game when I am _so much stronger than you!_ You're just a human and I don't even have to try but I do, and I don't know why. You are the most frustrating person I've ever known!"

He grabs our plates and stomps into the kitchen. "Probably because I've never cared about anyone the way I care about you," he adds under his breath.

I tense a little, because he's been saying things like this recently, and I still haven't figured out whether it's a good thing or a bad thing or just a lie.

He turns on the sink. I follow him into the kitchen and hug him around the waist from behind. He sighs and leans into me.

"I'm _sorry,_" I say. "I shouldn't 'ave said 'alf zat sheet to you."

"Except it was true."

"I'm sorry," I say again, sorry because it is true, sorry because spending this much time with Damien has made me see that there's this horribly human part of him that has made me care little bit about him in return.

"I'll do ze dishes since you made dinner," I say.

"Do you need more oranges?"

"No, I feel okay. It doesn't take as long to recover anymore."

"I'm going to watch the news." He slouches off into the living room.

Even though I turned down his offer of oranges, I still feel weak and trembly, maybe more from our argument than anything else. We argue constantly, sometimes about little things, sometimes full-blown shouting matches. It all leads back to the same thing, though. He wants but I won't give, I'm scared but he won't budge.

When I'm done with the dishes, I join him in the living room and curl up against him. I'm glad to be off my feet, even though I know the exhaustion will only get worse if I stay this close.

"Stay the night?" he asks, twisting his fingers with mine.

"Okay. If you're good." I bury my head into his shoulder.

The volume is on low. I look up to see him watching the TV with glazed-over eyes.

"You should move in," he suggests without looking at me.

"No."

"You sleep over half the time anyway, and I know you hate having to go home when you're so tired after being with me. Plus, I need you to make breakfast for me because I hate eating cereal every morning and you told me you make _really _good French toast."

"Your reasoning is flawless. But you know I can't."

"Because of Gregory?"

"We're partners, we've lived together for nine years, no - since we were fifteen. Ten years. We're working on a case together. And when it's finished, we might need to leave South Park."

"_You are never leaving me,_" he growls suddenly. His fingernails dig into my palm. I yelp and sit up.

"You're 'urting me- let go!"

He releases my hand, but his eyes stay narrowed and dark red.

"I never said I was leaving you, and stop being such a possessive asshole, it's really not as endearing as you zink it is. We'd probably only move back to Denver because zat's where we were living before zis case started and one of Gregory's oldest contacts has offices zere, all right? _Calm down_."

"Sorry," he mumbles, turning his head away. "I don't know what happened-"

"You're a fucking demon, zat's what 'appened." I keep staring at him. "Don't get so fucking attached to me, you've known me for a _monz_."

"But I like you," he whines, and tries for a bit of a smile as an apology. I sigh and accept it by intertwining our fingers again.

"Okay, okay. But I won't move in." We both kow the unspoken second reason, that I'm afraid of being too close to him for too long.

Out of nowhere, he asks, "Are you two fucking?"

"_What?_"

"You and Gregory?"

"What? Gross, no! Zat would just be weird since I've known him for so long. 'E's straight and not my type regardless!"

"Yeah," he says, "You like the tall, dark and handsome type." He raises his eyebrows.

"Actually," I say, smirking, "all ze men I've dated in ze past 'ave all been razzer submissive. I'm afraid I'm used to being on top, _mon ange_."

He stares at me for a few seconds. "I don't think I can do that."

"Yeah, zis probably isn't going to work out." I start to pull away.

"No!" He tackles me and pushes me back into the couch. We wrestle for a few minutes, each trying to pin the other and kiss them, and by the end of it I'm breathless and laughing hard enough to forget that this is all pretend.

He wins and flops down on top of me. "So you're not sleeping with Gregory?"

"For ze last time, no. 'E '_as _a girlfriend."

"You're not sleeping with anyone?"

"No!" I start to snap out something about trusting relationships, then realize what that would mean; that I consider whatever I have with Damien to be a real thing.

I let him kiss his way up my jaw.

"Good," he murmurs into my skin. "Because if you were, I'd kill them."

* * *

Later that night when he's asleep and my perpetual insomnia has kicked in, I start to realize the full gravity of my situation.

Such as, Damien is not going to let me go anytime soon, not if he keeps up with his 'I like you' and 'I care about you,' which I am becoming more and more sure is at least partially true.

It could be years before he tires of me, and during this time period I won't be able to engage with anyone else romantically. Whenever I like someone, I tend to follow after them in a helpless puppy-dog fashion, heroically offering to be their bodyguard or their knight in shining armor or something. I make a mental note to keep a grip on my emotions.

It could be _years_ before he tires of me.

It's only been one month and I already feel like he's stolen part of me, that he's wearing away at me, corroding my willpower. I don't think it's that much longer until I give into him. Maybe another month until I move in with him, sleep with him, maybe tell him I like him back if that's what he wants.

_(Because in the end, Damien always gets what he wants)._

* * *

When I stumble back into the apartment the next morning, I am immediately confronted by familiar faces.

"'Good morning," I say warily, and pour myself a cup of coffee. I perch on the counter and drink under the gaze of three mercenaries.

The first is Gregory's, of course. The dark shadows under his eyes have become permanent over the course of the last month. I know he worries. I just didn't realized he worried this much.

Daiyu and Hai are about as opposite as it can get, which I guess is why they work so well as a team. They have storybook fantasies that other mercenaries have only told in gossip; that they were raised in America but called back to their home country to slay a monster, that they're the son and daughter of a crime lord and they defeated him in order to restore balance in their hometown; that they are half-shadows and learned the secrets of worldtwisting from other shadows. From what I've gathered, I think their true life is a combination of these stories. I am a damn good mercenary, but I am not fit to lick their boots. Daiyu never laughs, and Hai always smiles. Gregory and I worked with them and a band of mercenaries when we were sixteen to stop a totalitarian leader from plunging the world into a dictatorship. They are also five years younger than me, which is a constant source of annoyance on my part.

None of this justifies them being in our living room, Daiyu picking chunks off a Hershey's chocolate bar and Hai humming.

"What ze fuck is going on?" I ask Gregory once I've drunk half my cup. Just because I am not fit to lick their boots doesn't mean I'm afraid to challenge them.

"I called them for help a few weeks ago. I told them it wasn't world-changingly urgent but we might have more issues with Satan trying to take over the world."

"We handled zat on our own last time," I say. "When we were _eight._"

"Apparently this is about more than that." Hai shrugs and smiles. He wears archer's gloves but carries no visible weapons. "Apparently the demons are taking control of people's minds."

"Demons are always doing zat," I scoff, and slurp down the rest of my coffee. "Gregory also had some concerns about the antichrist raping you," Daiyu says.

I put down my cup and fold my arms in my lap. I don't have words or emotions for a few seconds. Am I angry? Ashamed? Nothing my churning inside me.

"I would razzer focus on ze demons taking over ze world, please."

"We're a special kind of mercenary." Daiyu's scowl deepens. "Our kind - we don't have a name for us. There isn't a secret society or brotherhood or any of that comic book nonsense. Our world doesn't have superheroes but it does have people who are good at things. You and your shovel, for instance. Me and my brother doing what we do best." They don't like to talk about their ability to kick everything's ass. "Then there are some of us who are just /born/ to fight until they've gotten their way." I smirk at Gregory. "There aren't superheroes. But there is us. We don't necessarily stand for justice and we don't always do good things, but we will fight until the world is set right. Our kind - we travel in pairs and we look out of each other. And no one hurts on our own."

Gregory and I stare at her. She shrugs and tears off another chunk of chocolate to stuff in her mouth.

"She rehearsed that," Hai says.

"Shut _up_." She falls silent again.

"The point is," Hai says. "We'll fight against this antichrist for you."

"No." I look at the ground.

"God_damn_ it, Christophe," Gregory mutters. "Let someone help you for once."

"It's not about zat." Only it is about that, because asking for help would be admitting that I'm in way over my head, that I'm powerless, that I'm scared. "Damien is strong. You two are, well, you two. But you 'aven't fought against Damien."

"We've turned armies of Jiang-Shi from monsters to men," Hai says. "I'm sure we'd be fine."

"You might beat 'im." I doubt it. "But he would kill me before he would let you take me from him, because Damien will never let me go wizzout a fight."

I take a deep breath and turn on Gregory.

"But the real issue here is why you called on _Daiyu and Hai _and you _didn't tell me._"

Gregory flinches. "Christophe, I-"

"I'm not stupid," I snarl. "You didn't trust me, did you?"

"Damien might be working with his father and lying to you about it," Daiyu says.

"I wouldn't tell 'im anything! I 'ate 'im!" I clench my fists. They all look at me with pity in their eyes.

"You zink I like zis, don't you? You zink I like 'im testing me and scaring me and making me so paranoid I can't even sleep anymore! You zink I'll side wiz 'im-"

"I don't think you like this," Gregory snaps. "I'm not nearly that callous, and I know you better than that. But I do think that the control he has over you might lead you to giving him information."

"'E doesn't control me!"

Except he does.

"Fuck zis sheet." I pull my pack of cigarettes from my pocket and hop off the kitchen counter. "Stay and plan your little games. I'm going out."

"Where?" Gregory demands as I push past him.

"What are you, my mozzer? I'm twenty-five, I don't need a babysitter. I don't know and it doesn't matter."

* * *

Except I do know.

The sidewalk here is cracked with dead grass bursting from the breaks in concrete, twisting free of the slush. The house is part of a complex, the roof rotting in. Tweek is sitting on the front porch in a pair of boxers and nothing else, drinking coffee and thumbing through a newspaper.

"Oh," he says. "It's you."

"Oui." I push the fence open. The gate is surprisingly well-oiled. He appraises me as I draw closer.

"I've heard rumors about you," he says.

"Like what?" I stand above him. He sets the newspaper aside. He shakes in the cold exhale of wind. I resist the urge to suggest clothes.

"Like you and that British guy work for them."

"Zem? Who's zem?"

"Dunno." He shivered. "People who want to take my stuff from me." He glares at me under thin eyebrows. "You can't take my blood, man, it's not happening."

"Why don't you let me in?"

Tweek is a hoarder. Boxes fill the hallway. Magazines spill onto the floor. It reeks of bittersweet candy. The kitchen is the only relatively clean part of the house.

"Do you 'ear ze rumors from ozzer people or from inside your head?"

He sits down at the kitchen table. "Dunno. Does it make a difference?"

I sit next to him without answering. We both glance around the wreck that is his house. I wonder when he last had human contact outside the distribution meetings. I wonder if he has a job. I wonder if he eats anymore.

The demon blood is crushing his already fragile mind. For a second, I pity him.

"What do you want, Christophe?"

"I want information."

"I knew it." He gives a violent twitch. "You _are_ working for them."

"I'm working for myself."

"They'll - they'll kill me if I tell you anything. They warned me about you, I think."

"Zey won't know."

"They know _everything. _They killed Ms. Stevens." His eyes blink rapidly.

"Zat's because she was obvious about it. If you give me what I want, I won't bozzer you again."

He twitches, and I move on to a different tactic.

"You sell ze blood to people, don't you? How is telling me about it any different zan zat?"

"But you're not going to drink it," he says. "You're not addicted. You'll try to stop it."

"I'll-"

"I'll tell you," he says suddenly. "I'll tell you everything I can. If you drink some. One serving."

I stare at him.

"_Don't_ try to get around this." He stands and rummages under the counter. "I need to, I, I, I need to know I have something on you before I give you anything, okay? Just in case."

At least I can understand that.

He brings out a box and opens it to reveal dozens of blue vials. I consider throwing him to the ground and ordering him to tell me everything. But I know people like Tweek. He's been broken so many times he doesn't even care.

"Well?" he demands. "Are you going to do it?"

I take vial, roll it between my fingers. He takes a vial of his own, opens it, and tosses it back. He licks his lips of the blue residue and smiles the first genuine smile I've ever seen on him.

Don't do this.

It's not a voice screaming inside me. It's just logic.

I know why I'm here. Ostensibly, it's for information, but I want to show Gregory and Daiyu and Hai that Damien hasn't managed to submerge me yet.

Tweek keeps on twitching, watching, waiting.

I drink. It tastes bitter.

"You'll have about fifteen, twenty minutes, maybe less." His fingers drum the table. "Ask away."

First I pull out my cell phone and send Gregory a text. _Mission in California. Be back in a couple days._ Then I send the same text to Damien.

He fires back a reply almost instantaneously. _What? NO!_

_Sorry. Unavoidable._

"That's really what you're going to do? Text?" Tweek snickers, then eyes me nervously when I pocket the phone.

I lean forward. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not a liar."

I believe him. "Tell me what you know about ze distributors."

"They're low-ranking demons," he says. "They send us the information about meetings through texts and emails from anonymous sources. They don't like to talk much. From what I've heard of them they're scared of their superiors."

That makes sense if he's the king of Hell. I ignore the thought that Damien could still be in charge of all this. My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it.

"Is it Satan? Is 'e the one be'ind all this?"

"I don't know."

"What else can you tell me?" I clench my fists. "Tell me about who you're distributing to."

"We're building an army," he says. "Even I know that much. Mostly college-aged kids. You don't even know the control they have over us. Once you drink it, then." He snaps his fingers. "I guess you'll find out."

"Tell me everything you know."

"The demons have another group of humans distributing weapons. They're demon-made items, with an insignia of a cross. Most of them are knives and swords. I would guess they're produced by whoever in charge of organizing the human army."

"So you zink Satan's gearing up for a war."

"Yeah, man." He shudders. "There's gonna be a war and we're going to be on the winning side."

"We?"

He cracks another smile.

My head is starting to feel fuzzy. "A cross?"

He nods. "Deep indents on the blade. I don't get a good look at them since I'm not in charge, but there's a lot. It's going to be bloody. It's going to be _beautiful._" He starts to laugh, until tears roll down his cheeks, until the colors of his eyes burst from the sockets and blend with the ghosts in the air.

I wave my own hand in front of my face, and it starts to fly in front me.

I laugh. He's right, this is beautiful.

* * *

I don't remember things in words. Only visuals and emotions so hot it hurt to breath. Colors floating and cascading. Everything humming.

I find myself on his front porch a few hours later, drenched wet from snow. He's still in his boxers, slouched against the fence, smiling at me through half-lidded eyes.

I stand. Stumble. Catch myself.

He watches me climb over the fence.

"You'll need more, you know."

He looks almost sick as he says it.

"Come back to me," he says. 'I'll give it to you cheap."

* * *

I hide out in the woods by Stark's Pond to think and plan. At first I think that the blood isn't addictive the first time.

Then at about sunset I start to shiver. To think about the colors. To run the humming through my mind over and over again.

God, it was beautiful.

I know what I have to do.

First, I sneak back into town, break into an empty house, steal a ladder, drink my fill from someone's faucet, and fill up a water bottle. Then I head back to the woods again. I'm jittering now, shaking as I daydream of those precious few hours.

My shovel feels too heavy in my arms. It takes me too long to dig the hole, even in the hard-packed soil.

I'm weak and desperate by the time it's deep enough, and I keep thinking of Tweek's offer.

Once the hole's deep enough, the sides packed smooth enough, I pull the ladder out and toss it on the side. I throw my shovel next to it. I keep my cigarettes. I'm going to need them.

Then I jump.

The hole I dug is about eleven feet deep, and the impact makes my legs throb. I sit in the corner, huddle under my one blanket, smoke a cigarette, and prepare myself.

With the night comes the cold, freezing the sides of the wall and making them impossible to climb. With the night comes the throbbing, the aching, the dryness in my mouth and the _need._

I sleep and dream in color.

I awake with my fingers tearing at the icy dirt against my will. I sit down again, resisting the urge to claw my way free. My fingers are numb. I stick them under my armpits, hunch over, and try not to shiver to death.

I get another text from Damien at around nine in the morning, the tenth he's sent me from yesterday. This one I actually bother to look at.

_I'm pissed off. You're going to regret this, Christophe. Take too long and I'll come looking for you._

I break the phone. No matter what, I can't let him find out I drank his father's blood. He might decide to remedy it by making me drink his blood.

Controlling me.

The nausea hits at almost noon. I sprawl out on the floor of the hole, moaning. My water bottle is empty. There is nothing to counter the feverish feel to my skin; the icy air does nothing to dampen it. I start to shake. To mutter to myself.

By evening, I'm in hysterics. Sobbing _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry_. Begging someone, anyone to just _give me something._ I don't even know what I want, except out of this hole.

I try to claw my way up, but my arms are too weak. I scrape at the dirt, pound at it, still sobbing.

"_His. His. His."_

The word repeats through my head in rhythm.

_His. His. His._

"Please!" I scream. Kick and fight my way free of the hole. Drag myself over the edge. Start to stand - to go beg more blood off Tweek - and my legs betray me.

I crumple to the ground. Try to get up again. Can't.

I sob against the injustice of it all. I try to stand again. Fail. Keep on fighting.

At sometime in the night I make it a few feet. The next morning I manage to crawl almost half a mile. By evening the next night I'm too weak with hunger and cold that I have no energy to do anything except sleep.

* * *

I wake up with the word _his _on my tongue and the thirstiest I've ever been in my entire life. Stark's pond is less than twenty feet away. I crawl over to it and drink, not caring about pollution. I can't feel my fingers and I'm afraid to look at them.

Then I roll on my back and think about the wreck I've crashed myself into. Think about the consequences of my actions, of my stupid need to prove something.

The _need _is still there in the back of my head, and I think it always will be.

But - at least they're not right.

At least I'm still fighting.

I raise my fist triumphantly in the air, then let it drop when holding it there takes too much effort.

* * *

It takes me hours to get back into town, and I wouldn't have made it without my shovel to use as a walking stick.

"How was the mission?" Gregory calls from his bedroom when I open the door to the apartment.

"Fine!" I call back, teeth chattering. I stumble to the bathroom and fall into the shower. I manage to make myself look at my hands.

They're black in some spots at the tip. My stomach rolls. I sit on the floor of the shower and try to massage them, to little success. They don't hurt anymore, which I take as a bad sign.

At least the scalding water dethaws the center of me, which has been frozen since the first night in the hole. I pull on new gloves that cover my fingertips, a change of clothes that doesn't smell like sweat and dirt and fear, and eat everything in our fridge.

Gregory leaves his room just as I'm downing the last of the milk. His shoulders are slumped enough to make me think he was trying to figure out how to talk to me.

"Where are Daiyu and 'ai?" I wipe my mouth on my sleeve.

"Investigating. Look around spots where we know the demons made the transactions, trying to figure how they get to and from Hell."

"So zey really are 'elping us."

"Yes."

I set the carton on the counter for someone else to clean up. My hands are still shaking. He must notice the bags under my eyes, because he says, "Mole, about earlier-"

"Save it." I sit by the door and wrestle to pull my boots on again. "I 'ave more information."

He blanches. "What?"

"Ze demon we're after 'as a certain insignia - a cross. Zey're also distributing weapons for an army. Knives, mostly."

He narrows his eyes. "Did Damien-"

"_Non!_" I snap. "I found zis out on my own." I yank on my laces, hard. My frostbitten fingers make the act of tying my shoes twice as lengthy.

"How?"

"I don't want to tell you."

"Mole-"

"Some zings need to be secrets." I'll tell him if the _his, his, his_ comes back, but not until then.

He clenches his teeth and exhales. "Okay. The insignia. Your information is solid."

"I'm positive."

"Then we should be able to track down the demon in charge of distribution. If only we could get down to hell."

"Working on it." I do up the last knot and stand. My fingers are still numb, all the way up to the second joint.

"Wait. Where are you going?" His eyes are still narrowed. At me? For having secrets of my own, considering all the things he's kept from me?

"Damien's."

"Mole-"

"I have to go." I slam the door shut as I go, the motion making my hand hurt, the quiet lies between Gregory and me still throbbing.

* * *

Damien is standing on the front porch when I arrive. I hang a few feet back, rolling my shoulders to fill the comforting bump of my shovel against my back. He crosses his arms and glares at me.

"Where were you?"

"I told you. Mission."

He steps off the porch and stalks up to me. I flinch when he grabs my shoulder.

"I thought you were leaving me. I told you not to leave me!"

"I said I won't, and I came back."

He breathes through his teeth. "You disobeyed me."

"Like I said," I say, and wrench my shoulder free of his grasp, "I'm not your slave."

"Come inside." He reaches for my hand.

"No. Not wiz you zis angry."

"Why?" he says mockingly. "Scared of me?"

We glare at each other.

"Yes."

He smirks. "You should be."

He grabs my hand. I let out a cry as his fist tightens over my frostbitten hands. The pain is probably a good sign.

He furrows his brow and wrenches off my gloves before I can stop him.

"What the fuck did you do to yourself? You said you went to California!"

"It was zat kind of mission, okay?" I snap. I already have the whole story straight in my head. "So zere was zis-"

"You're lying to me."

He drags me into the house and shuts the door behind us. He leans against it, blocking the exit.

"Let me out."

"You're trying to leave me! You hate me and you're trying to get away!"

His eyes glow.

"I came over 'ere to try to keep our relationship-"

"Our relationship?" He throws out his hands. "You want away from me. That's our relationship."

"I don't want to fight wiz you, but I swear to god if you don't let me out-"

"You'll _what? _What, Christophe? You're a pathetic human. What could you possibly do to me-"

I bash my shovel into his ribcage. He stumbles against the door, then recovers and lunges for me, tackling me back into the floor. He tears my shovel out of my hands and throws it across the room. I shove at him, but I'm too weak to budge him. He traps my hands above my head.

I scream bloody murder as he breaks off the blackened tips.

"That's your punishment for trying to leave me, Chris. Don't do it again."

"Let me go!" My words come out stuttering.

He flattens me against the ground and kisses me. His breathing is erratic when he pulls back.

"I'll heal you up if you beg."

"Go fuck yourself."

He kisses my neck.

"I'm so much stronger than you. Why do I even bother to jump through your hoops and play this stupid game of ours when I could just /have/ you? Nothing about this relationship is genuine, why should I even care about it?"

I turn my face away and press my cheek against the floor. He works at the zipper of my jeans, his eyes bright and furious at the same time.

"_Beg_ me to heal you. _Beg_ me to stop hurting you."

I say nothing.

He stops tearing at my jeans and rests his hands on either side of my face.

"Chris, are you okay?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I mumble. "You're right, why would you even care?"

He grabs my chin and makes me look at him. Most of the anger drains from his eyes.

"I thought you would fight me more if it came down to this."

I laugh hoarsely. "I'm too tired. I'm sick of zis game, too. You've won. Do whatever you want."

He stares down at me. I turn my face away again.

His hands grasp my ruined ones. Honey warmth spreads up my wrists. I cry out as my fingers grow anew. Then the pain fades.

He kisses my lips softly, then bumps our foreheads together. I still don't give him a reaction.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that-"

"Get off me."

He gets off.

* * *

I stay. I'm too tired to walk home, and I know we have to heal something between us or I'll never stop fearing him.

I think he knows it, too, which is why he orders pizza and stays mostly out of my way until it arrives. I eat on the floor of the living room and he joins me after my second slice. We don't speak until the pizza's gone.

"Apologies won't work," I say when he opens his mouth.

He sighs. "I want to make this better. What can I do to make this better?"

"I don't know." I curl my legs against my chest. "I thought you were improving. But zat was like before, when you almost drowned me. I don't zink you'll ever get better."

"_Chris_."

He begs me to look at him with just my name. I don't.

More silence. I stare up at the lighting.

"What do you want, Chris?" he says. "Tell me. I'll give you anything."

_I want to stop the demon blood suppliers. I want to keep Satan from taking over Earth._

I want to go to sleep and never have to see his face again.

He puts an arm around me. I close my eyes, lean into him, and imagine he is anyone else.

* * *

Damien carries me back to our apartment. Gregory opens the door after the first knock and glares at him.

"Mole, you okay?"

"Nmmph," I mutter. Damien sets me on my feet and I fall into Gregory. "Need sleep."

"Looks like you guys are making progress," Damien says, peering into the dark apartment. I follow his gaze and see Bebe sitting on the counter with Kenny at her side, her arms shaking and her eyes bloodshot. Kenny freezes when he sees Damien. Damien smiles. Hai and Daiyu are giving him their best death glares. He waves his fingers in acknowledgement and saunters from the apartment complex.

"I'm ready to talk," Bebe says.

I sigh and push past Gregory into the apartment. It's going to be a long night.

* * *

She sips tea as the rest of us crowd around her and wait.

"I started taking the blood about a month and a half ago," she says. "Maybe a week before my mother's death." She shudders. "I think that was why she was murdered."

"I don't make the connection," Gregory says.

"I started buying it independently. She came and visited me at school, found out I was frizzing out on freaking _blood,_ so she tried to stop me. I was hooked by then, refused to let her take my stuff. She threatened to make sure no suppliers ever sold to me again. I think . . . I think it got her killed." She looks miserable under our scrutiny, her shoulders hunched, her curly blond hair flattened and strawlike, her eyes shadowed and her wrist bones poking through the skin. "I didn't get it at first why she cared. I mean, she was doing it. I should have realized."

She leans into Kenny. He pulls her into his chest and kisses the top of her head.

"Why can you tell us about the demon blood distributors?" Daiyu demands.

"They're selling it for cheap. Really cheap. Cheaper than weed. Anyone can afford it. They sell it in daytime, they sell it to teachers, they sell it to anyone they can find. I go to one of the best engineering schools in the entire country and half the students there are druggies because of it. It's spreading fast." She shakes her head. "You guys have to stop it. I don't know what you can do, but if you don't act soon it's going to tear everyone apart."

I hear something whisper _his _in the back of my head, just once before it fades.

"We'll do our best." Gregory turns to Kenny. "Make sure she gets some sleep."

Kenny nods and the two of them leave our apartment. The four of us mercenaries sit at the dining room table.

"We need to act," Daiyu says.

"Did you tell them-" I ask Gregory.

"About the cross insignias? Yes." He purses his lips. "I think we have only one possible course of action right now."

"You think-" Hai begins.

Gregory nods. "We need to get down to Hell."

Something cold spreads through my stomach.

"I don't know how we're going to do this." Hai rubs his forehead. "I've only been to Hell a few times, and it's never been easy. We need to find some sort of necromancer - or a powerful demon-"

"Just _stop _it," I snap. The three of them turn to me.

"He's right," says Daiyu.

"We all know Damien can get us to 'ell. You zree are just tiptoeing around it."

"Apologies," Daiyu says. "So. Do you think he'd be willing to take us?"

I prop my chin in my hands to think.

"Ze four of us," I say, "definitely no. Me alone - maybe. We've been 'aving . . . issues recently."

I shudder involuntarily. The other three look at me with such pity that I want to kill someone.

"Um," Gregory says, "can you give Chris and I some privacy?"

They glance at each other, nod, and slip off to the guest bedroom. Gregory sets his forearms on the table.

"Talk," he says quietly.

I shake my head. "It's nozing-"

"It's not nothing or you wouldn't have even mentioned it. God_damn_ it, Christophe, don't be afraid to ask for help every once in awhile. You don't have to do everything on your own, that's why we're partners, remember?"

I don't say anything.

He waits.

"I _know,_" I say. "But-"

"Talk."

And I think, okay, okay, I can do this, and I open my mouth and close it and open it again and make myself say parts of the truth. I tell him about aspects of our relationship I'm sure he didn't want to hear. The details. The intimacy.

That-

That he was so angry when I came back, I thought he would kill me-

That he's always like this, underneath the snarky facade and cheer-

That I'm afraid there isn't anything human about him-

That I'm afraid there _is,_ that he's terribly lonely and self-conscious and needy and he's terrified that I'll leave him and I want to leave him-

That I'm afraid I'm going to drown under his constant threats, the tension, the way he pushes me, how I know eventually he'll drag me under the surface to suffocate with him.

When I'm done, Gregory doesn't talk for the longest time. He asks a couple questions. Some funny questions. _"Does he really have a teddy bear?" "Oui, 'er name is Mrs. 'oney and 'e's 'ad 'er since 'e was eight."_ Some painful ones. _"He hasn't raped you?" "It's pretty fucking close," _and _"Do you really think you're going to give in soon?" "Maybe zen 'e'll stop zinking I'm going to leave 'im."_

I still don't tell him I drank the demon blood. But I tell him everything else.

"You're going to have to start lying now," Gregory says.

I nod. I expected as much.

"I _hate_, I _hate_ to tell this to you, but you need to -" He takes a deep breath. "You need to make him trust you. I'm not saying sleep with him, he wouldn't believe that. But let him see parts of you only I've seen. It'll trap him the way he's trapped you."

"Not nearly," I say.

"Not nearly," he agrees, "but enough that you'll have something over him. Because I _hate _this, and I still want to say _fuck t_his mission and let's run, but we can't, it wouldn't work anyway and it's too important now, Christophe, more important than me or you or anyone, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry."

He combs his hair out of his eyes with his fingers.

"Make him think you've started to warm up to him."

"Even after ze sheet zat 'appened zis afternoon?" I laugh hoarsely.

"Take some time but let his charm work on you. Let-" He hesitates, shakily. "He's got everything on you - your fear, your freedom - so take something back. Trick him. Lie. We need to get down to Hell and Damien is our best shot at making that happen."

* * *

I don't go over to Damien's the next day, or the one after that. Recuperating in my own special way. Daiyu prints out an article for me on why rape is never the victim's fault. Hai berates her for being so fucking insensitive, but I read it anyways.

On the third day, I accept the fact that I can't hide forever, so I head over to his house at about eight at night.

It takes every inch of willpower I have to leave my shovel back at the apartment, but I know he'll appreciate the sign of surrender.

He opens the door after I ring the doorbell twice and blinks at me, just staring. I watch him note the lack of shovel.

"Hi," he says.

I shrug in greeting.

He smiles hesitantly.

"Let me in," I intone, "it's fucking cold out 'ere."

He grins for real and lets me into the house, which smells like burnt ramen. I wrinkle my nose and make him real dinner like usual. I've been doing most of his shopping recently, and there's still enough in the refrigerator to make hamburgers out of ground beef patties. He makes the appropriate "oh god how are you such a good cook" noises while he devours them, which earns him a flick on the head for exaggeration.

We go up to his bedroom and just sit on the blanket, not doing anything, not even touching. He lies down and watches me.

"Are you still angry?" he asks.

"I wasn't angry," I say. "I was scared out of my fucking mind."

"I'm sorry."

I sigh. "I know."

More awkward silence. I reach out and drag my fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes. I keep some level of mechanics in my voice, so he won't suspect anything, so he'll think I'm giving him ground so he won't take it.

"Well, you can kiss me, if you want to."

He keeps them chaste, on my jaw and nose and forehead and lightly on my lips. After a few minutes he rests his chin on my shoulder.

"Want to watch a movie?"

" . . . as long as it's not anozzer 'orror flick." I used to like horror movies until I started watching them with Damien. Not only does he pick out films _made in Hell itself, _but he laughs sadistically at all the worse scenes, with the humans raping each other with their lower intestines and shit like that.

He chooses a generic romantic comedy from the Netflix queue, which makes me suspect it was simply an excuse to cuddle. About halfway through the movie he makes a not-so-subtle offer to blow me.

"_Non._"

"Come on, Chris, everyone says I give _really_ good head."

'Everyone'? _Gross_. "No fucking way."

Onscreen, the main couple has broken up over the heroine's lies. I try to focus on the angsty drama.

"Why not?"

"Are we really going to go zrough zis again?"

He shuts up and resumes spooning with me, his chin still tucked over my shoulder.

As the credits roll I feel him sigh against me.

"Sometimes I just wish I'd never done any of that. That I'd never attacked you in the first place."

"But zat's how you are," I murmur into his wrist.

"But maybe if I hadn't, maybe then someday you would trust me and this would be for real."

He sounds so genuinely human that I freeze up a little, thinking _dear god this can't be real _and _what if it is? _I roll over to face him.

"Give me time," I say, "and someday it will be."

I kiss him. We meld into each other, press close enough to feel each other's hearts beating frantically, and with his arms around me for some reason I feel safe enough to want it to be real.

He doesn't pressure me for anything further sexually, other than a little grinding of our hips as he climbs on top of me and presses me back into the couch. He mutters bizarre things into my ear, like "_thank god you're you". _I tease him once by saying, "you fucking sexy demon" after I run my hands over his torso and feel his muscles, which I know will give him airs for weeks.

After I'm too tired to kiss him or move, we lay there in the darkness with his lips pressed to my neck, and I think that maybe some part of what happened to other day has been forgiven, that maybe even if the gentle Damien lying next to me right now is a lie, maybe that's still good enough.

* * *

A/N:

I don't usually do author's notes at the bottom of the chapter anymore, but this was so long that I just have to say thank you for reading all the way through it!

Also, no sex scene is this chapter, hahahahah. I deliberately wrote this fic to get over my fear of writing sex. (Usually I don't even like to write kissing; it weirds me out.) So there's definitely more touchiness that I'm used to in this. I hope I'm doing it right. Teaser: yes, there is a real sex scene in the next chapter. This fic has to earn its M rating somehow. (Although the extent, and the level of consent, are my secret).

So, again, thanks for reading, and please review!


	3. Chapter 3

Music:

_Believe_ - The Bravey

_Duality (Belzebass remix)_ - Slipknot

_Too Close_ - Alex Clare

* * *

**Part 3 of 3**

* * *

Romantic outings with Damien in South Park have so far consisted of:

-Eating ice cream even the subzero temperatures, just because it tastes good.

-Skating at the roller rink when Stark's Pond was just slush.

-Hand-in-hand walks through the night.

So when I walk out of the apartment complex to meet Damien and he's in a suit and leaning against an expensive black Italian car, all I can say is, "Sheet, I am not dressed for zis."

"You aren't. " He's grinning, the bastard.

"What makes you zink I'll agree to zis?"

His shoulders droop. "Because I have shittons of money and I need something to blow it on?"

I cross my arms.

"I'll do you a favor," he says. "Come on, it's worth forty-three virgins."

I pretend to consider for a second. "I'll be right back out."

I don't own a suit. Gregory does, and even though he's taller than me and my shoulders are broader, I still manage to fit into it. The three of them stare at me when I leave my room with my hair combed for the first time in fifteen years.

"I'm making progress," I announce.

"You look nice," Hai says.

"Be careful," Gregory warns.

I snicker. "I can look after myself. Don't wait up,_ mom." _

The look he gives me makes me wince. "Okay, I'll be careful."

I take my shovel with me.

Damien admires me in the suit.

"You look good," he says.

"So do you." I force myself to acknowledge it.. He does have the whole tall-dark-and-handsome thing going for him, which makes it easier.

"Kind of weird to see you in anything other than that jacket and military fatigues and your boots. "He holds the door open for me on the passenger's seat. I set my shovel down in the back seat where I can easily grab it, and fasten my seatbelt. I've driven with Damien before.

We're on the highway to Denver in less than a minute. I grip the armrest and try to reassure myself that I'll probably live even if he crashes the car. He snickers as other drivers honk at us.

"Where are we going?"

"Ritzy restaurant."

"Ah." I've only ever been to ritzy restaurants during covert ops.

"So. About my favor."

He groans. "I knew I was going to regret that. What do you want?"

I play with various ways to say it in my head, then decide to just spit it out.

"I want to go down to 'ell."

"Well, that's easy," he says. "I suppose you want to be able to come back, too?"

I nod.

"Is this about the demon blood thing?"

"You said you would 'elp wiz zat."

"I am, you just can't tell and I can't brief you on what I'm doing. Look, Christophe. Everyone has some secrets. If I go down to Hell - then you'll know some of mine."

This catches me off guard.

"Are you-"

"_No_, goddamn it, I'm not the one distributing the demon blood. But I'm wrapped up in it."

"Because of your fazzer."

"Yeah."

"We need to take care of zis. It could change ze fate of ze world."

"It could."

He focuses on the road.

"Normally I would say, who are you to think you can change the world?" He shakes his head and gives a short laugh. "But I know you, Christophe. If anyone could change the world on their own, it would be you."

I stay quiet for a few seconds. We're approaching the outskirts of Denver when I speak up.

"If you're so afraid of me knowing your secrets, zen _zis_ will never work."

"I know!"

"Zen, ah, 'ow about zis." I think back to Gregory's advice. Make him think you're opening up to him. "If I give you one of my secrets, will you give me zis one?"

He glances at me. "One of your secrets?"

I nod.

"I could just _demand_ you tell me," he says, chin in the air.

"But I won't," I snap back.

He raises his shoulders and half-sinks his neck into them. "Sorry."

I force myself to relax while I wait for his response.

"Fine," he says. "It better be one of the deep and dark ones, though."

I smile. "Wouldn't 'ave it any ozzer way."

* * *

I toy over my secrets in my head, looking for one that would tantalize him. I consider making one up for a few seconds, then disregard the idea. I have to learn to trust him or I'll hurt myself in the end..

Damien plays with his silverware. Silence amplifies the hesitation. His gaze settles on me. He raises his eyebrows.

"Well?"

"I'm zinking."

"It'd better be good."

The waiter comes. I order the first thing on the menu, since it's all upper-class Italian-sounding garbage. When the waiter leaves, Damien returns to watching me.

"_Well_?"

"Okay, okay." I lean forward a little bit, resting my palms on the tablecloth. My stomach feels full of air, and my head is rushing.

"Ze first person I killed didn't deserve it."

He shows now emotion, just waits for the explanation we both know is coming.

"I was eleven, and I was struggling on my own. I 'adn't moved in wiz Gregory yet, and I was doing odd jobs just to keep some cash in my pocket. Someone offered me money to kill someone for zem. I couldn't find any ozzer jobs and winter was coming and I needed to be able to afford a place to stay, and zey were offering good money. So I did it. Ze person I killed was guilty of stealing something, of blackmailing, of 'oarding secrets, but zey 'adn't done anyzing zat should 'ave resulted in zeir deaz. I killed zem with a 'andgun, while zey slept. A coward's kill, a clean kill, a kind kill. I killed zem, and I took zeir money, and I 'ad a place to stay, and when ze money ran out I finally called Gregory up and begged 'im to let me stay wiz 'im. Not because I didn't want to kill anozzer person; because I couldn't find anozzer job."

I take a deep breaz and set back in my seat.

He doesn't say anything.

"Zere aren't a lot of jobs for eleven-year-olds," I say. "It was establish myself as a child prodigy of a mercenary, or prostitute myself. I 'aven't killed innocents since zen, but I 'aven't been zat desperate. I don't zink I would anymore, but I don't know for sure."

He's still quiet.

"What?"

"I'm trying to figure out if you're telling me the truth," he says.

I narrow my eyes. "I am."

"I want to believe you," he says. "I mean, not that I give a damn whether or not you're a killer-"

My quick intake of air must alert him.

"You know what I mean," he says quickly. "I'm the antichrist, if I couldn't handle that then I'm not fit for my job, you know? Of course I care whether or not you've killed someone, because what you do makes you, well, _you_. And I care about that." He rubs his temples. "Christ, this is getting too complicated. But I'm glad you told me that. What it really a deep, dark secret of yours?"

"I 'aven't even told Gregory."

"Are you kidding?"

I shake my head.

"Wow." He grins. "Uh, any particular reason why you chose to tell me that one?"

I support myself on my elbows. The waiter brings by a basket of bread, and I wait for him to leave before I pick up again.

"Well," I say, "I chose to tell you zat because it tells you something about me."

"What? Other than-"

"Ozzer zan ze obvious. It shows zat I do ugly things when I am desperate." I pause. "It's not one of my strong points."

His shoulders slump. "I kind of already knew that."

The silence between us morphs into an almost physical manifestation of the memories; of the things Damien has seen me do, of the way he's turned me angry and scared and into a nervous, paranoid wreck.

"Now it's time for your secret," I say.

He grins, a little jittery. "Uh, I think it's something I'm going to have to show you. For right now, let's just say I have a lot more going down in Hell than I like to let on."

* * *

Somehow, we relax. I make myself forget for a little while. He tells jokes, stupid enough to make me laugh. I regale him with stories of impossible missions. Fighting monsters, infiltrating yakuza ranks, faking the dead and bringing them back to life.

"No way. That's true? You really did that?"

"Of course. Why would I lie?"

"It's just, uh. Wow. I can't believe you and Gregory really went that far to get that little girl back."

"Well," I said, sniffing a little, "'er fazzer was paying us in five digits, what else were we supposed to do?"

He laughs, and I finish the story. He only interrupts one more time to question me on my honesty.

"I swear to God, Damien, I'm telling ze truz."

And once we're back in South Park we climb into the backseat and kiss for a bit, and then we don't even need to kiss anymore, we just entangled with him curling me up against him, listening to each other's heartbeats, and outside it has started to snow. I breathe deep against him and he sighs.

And I'm scared.

Because I've been in love before, and this isn't it, not anywhere close.

But I know this is how it starts. This is how you can tell it would maybe work out. If there are quiet moments between the two of you where you don't need anything; if their smell burns into your nostrils like home; if your heartbeats sync as you press into each other. And this doesn't guarantee, doesn't even make it likely, but having moments like this are the first step and I know it and Damien knows it, and I'm scared because I can't stop this.

And he'll hurt me if he thinks it'll help him get his way. Because I'm still not a person to him. And I'll never forget.

And Damien always gets what he wants.

But we sit there, breathing together, half-asleep and at some sort of peace, and the heater hums to counter the frozen chill outside, so it's like we're in some sort of oasis. And it's beautiful.

And Damien says, "Then I'll take you to Hell."

* * *

We do it on the floor of his living room, sitting on the wood with the lights turned off and our heartbeats beating too loudly. A sliver of moonlight creeps through the blinds, then only light in the room. I make out Damien's bitten lip, his hunched shoulders, and, of course, his bright-glowing eyes.

"Are you sure about this?" he says again.

"I have to," I say.

My shovel rests in my lap.

We sit cross-legged across from each other, knees touching. He brings his hands up to his face, cups them, and starts to blow.

After a few minutes, a warm light forms in his hands, the size of a penny. It grows larger with each exhale, and even though when he sucks in a breath it quivers a little bit, after less than a minute it fills his whole hand.

I'm tempted to ask what he's doing, but his eyelids are half-closed and his lips curved up in just the slightest smile, and he looks almost at peace.

Exhale. Inhale. The light spills out of his hand, the edges of it touching my skin. It feels like the healing magic he uses on me whenever he goes too far with the bruises.

Exhale. Inhale. It swallows up my hands and they disappear in the white. Then it travels up to his forearms. It's eating him up as well, until both of us are dissolving into the light. Exhale. Inhale. My heartbeat picks up the pace as the adrenaline flashes through my veins. I'm trembling.

He bumps my knees with one of his and smiles wider. Then he takes another breath and blows it out and we disappear into-

The stone walls tower above my head, large enough for a building to walk through the halls. The halls are illuminated by glowing white lights hanging in the air. It smells of mold and age.

There are people in the hall around us, most of them distorted enough to clue me in. Pointed ears or sharp teeth or impossibly tall and thin and the wings – batlike or hummingbird of just appendages rowed with shards of glass-

Their gazes land upon Damien, and the shock is almost tangible.

"I request an audience with my father," Damien says, crossing his arms. He says it quietly, almost enough to be ignored, but every single demon jumps at his words and bows deeply before half of them scurry off. The other half fawn around us , still bowing, babbling things like, "My lord! You've returned to us!" and, "I trust your stay on earth was pleasant?"

"Find Lilith," he says. A few more of the herd trickles off. "And leave us," he says. "You're scaring my mate."

"Fuck you," I mumble, although I have hunched closer to him, and I'm holding my shovel in front of me.

Then demons only back off an inch, and now they're babbling about _the prince has finally found a mate, oh _and _what kind of human is he_ and –

"Leave us!" Damien snarls, and this time they back off and give us some breathing room. He grabs my wrist, forcing one hand off the shovel, and half-leads half-drags me through the halls.

"Zey're not surprised zat I'm 'uman?" I whisper.

He shrugs. "The higher-up demons tend to be inclined towards human. You have more stable children."

"I never agreed to be your 'mate,'." I let a level of disgust level off with my words.

"It's just what we call it down here," I keep clenching tightly to my shovel. "Where are we going?"

"To meet with my father."

My eyes widen. "Why?"

"You want to get to the heart of this demon blood trafficking, don't you? Wasn't that the point of all this? Then my family is the place to go."

I shiver. He smiles. "Don't be scared."

"Fuck you," I say again.

He wraps an arm around my shoulders. "It's okay, Chris."

I shrug him off and stomp ahead. The ceiling in sloping downwards, the walls closing in, and the floating lights growing dimmer.

"I thought demons would be braver zan zose back zere," I say.

"The common ones are all groveling like that. The nobility are tougher skinned. They still grovel a bit, but behind that they're plotting how to get what they want out of you. Speaking of nobility, hey, Lilith."

The demon I know as Lily emerges from the shadows and joins our pace. She looks the same as she did the night in Damien's apartment a month ago when Damien and I had our first of a hundred arguments. Her Victorian-era dresses flows around her legs as she saunters, and her high heels clack. I stare at her. Lilith. Lily. How the fuck did I not make the connection?

"I see you've returned," she says to Damien, and there is some hint of relief and some hint of warning to her words.

"Not permanently," he says. "Just to chat."

She looks at me with disdain. "What's he doing here?"

"I brought him here."

"So you've managed to hold onto this one for so long? Impressive." She examines me as we walk. I tighten my grip on my shovel and glare back at her.

"Kenny was longer," Damien says, sounding slightly offended.

"Yes, but he was half-dead himself, wasn't he? And he wanted to die. After the first day, he wanted to die." She raises her eyebrows. "It doesn't smell like you've raped this one yet."

"'I'm right 'ere," I say.

"He's right here," Damien agrees. I fall into step on his other side so I can keep him between me and Lilith. He looks slightly amused at this, but he's just misinterpreting my actions. I'm not afraid of getting into a fight with her, I'm just worried it would halt my progression towards my audience with the Demon King.

Lilith's eyebrows remain arched. "You've gotten soft."

He scoffs, which makes me shiver a little, but I do appreciate the way he grips my fingers and pulls me closer to him. He might think of me as a bit more of a person and less of a thing than he did before. At least, I hope that's what the point of all of this is. I want to draw my hand away after a few seconds, but his grip on me remains strong, and I can see in the way he stares straight ahead and clenches his other fist that he just needs something to hold onto.

And I'm supposed to be lying. I'm supposed to gaining his trust. So I let him grip my hand as we walk.

"Am I here as the moral support?" Lilith murmurs. There's a door at the end of the hall up ahead, and I know instinctively where it leads. I wonder if this place was built like that, so that Satan's corridors would be at the end of everything, or if this is just the kind of hall that takes you where you need to go.

"Yes, please," Damien says back to her. "Also – because you're right. I do need friends down here."

She smiles, almost to herself. "Damien Thorn admitting he's wrong? What affect is this bitchy little human having on you?"

"He brought me down here again," he says, which I guess is enough for her, because she doesn't talk even as Damien opens the door and I see what's on the other side.

* * *

I'm expecting some of it. The flickering black flames, the marble thrones, the broken skulls scattered over the floor.

I'm not expecting four individuals instead of just one.

Two girls, both in their tweens, one delicate and clothed in Lolita fashion, the other scowling and dressed in leather.

Satan, a huge, hulking, red monster. I've met him before. He huffs down at the two of us.

And a familiar fifteen-year-old boy, his dark eyes just as vicious, his sneer just as sharp.

I look between Damien, then the girls, then at Noah, who I remember throwing out a window, and I give a hoarse laugh.

"He's your _brother_."

"Yeah," Damien says. "I kind of forgot to tell you that." He bows deeply to his father. Lilith is snickering to herself as she copies him.

I start to say something – I don't know what – but Damien cuts in before I can get a word out.

"I apologize for my frankness, father, but this is not merely a social visit. My mate has a quarrel with my brother."

Satan leans forward and stares at me. I wonder if he even remembers me from the last time I was here, a bitter twelve-year-old searching for a lost soul. Hey, that little girl's father was paying me double.

He must not, because he says, "What kind of a human is he?"

"The stubborn type," Damien says. He clasps his hands behind his back as he talks.

Satan lifts an eyebrow. "And is he the reason you've been away from home for so long?"

"I'm afraid not. I left because I found the climate in Hell . . . unpalatable."

Satan snorts to himself, which comes out as a wet-sounding grunt. "I've taught you well in the ways of court manners, son. But are you sure this little quarrel between your mate and your brother has nothing to do with the foolish sibling rivalry between the four of you?"

"Absolutely."

"Because I would hate for someone to loose a head, like your older sister."

I shiver. Is he implying what I think he is? I glance sideways at Damien, who shows no emotion.

"I don't intend to battle with Noah today. Or the girls, of course." He smiles at his younger sisters, who I assume must be the Eve and Mary I heard Damien and Lilith talking about earlier.

"Good. Then let your mate say what he will."

I can see why Damien took me to Noah like this. Even though I'm finally getting what I want, an audience with the one in charge of the demon blood distribution, Damien still has control over the situation, and my actions are limited because of the audience.

I sling my shovel back into its strap over my shoulder, cross my arms, and stalk up until I'm a few feet from Noah's throne. His thick eyebrows frame his face. He sneers, like I'm nothing or less beneath him. I'm struck with the sudden urge to kill the uptight little shit, or at least throw him out another window.

"Hello, _Chris,"_ he sings out. "Damien's been telling me all about you."

"'As 'e really?"

"Well, every few weeks I send a messenger up to ask him how you two are doing, he writes a note telling me not to fuck around in his personal business and stabs out the messenger's eyes, so I assume it's going horribly."

"Your powers of deduction are truly astounding." I light a cigarette and take a drag. "You're ze one be'ind all zis demon blood trafficking, aren't you? I didn't know you were of royal demon blood, so I zought you just 'ad a 'and in it. But you're ze one controlling it. It's not Satan. You're giving away your own blood for – whatever reason I don't even know."

The _His, His, His_ pounds through my head, with enough force to make my vision spot for a second. When it returns, my knees are trembling, and Noah is smirking at me.

_That'll be our little secret, _his voice murmurs without sound, bouncing around in my skull. I grit my teeth.

"Why are you raising an army? What's in it for you?"

He peers down at me through heavily-lidded eyes, as if I'm nothing, less than nothing.

"Why do you _think?"_

"You said this wouldn't be part of you and your siblings' feud," Satan warns. "I've told you what I think of the subject, and I must say I won't stand for it."

He glares at Damien.

"Uh," Lilith says quickly. "I'm going to show Damien and Chris to Damien's old quarters."

"This is going to be a very short visit," Damien says, gazes locked with his brother.

"It seems most appropriate to me that I show you your rooms," she says. Damien snags me by the arm, and started to not so much drag as lead me from the hall.

"Zis is a warning," I call back to Noah. "Us pazzetic 'umans? We're going to kill you."

* * *

I manage to keep my anger to a simmer all during the walk to Damien's old quarters, which are made of the same marble stone as the rest of the palace, save for the double-bed, the tapestries on the wall, and the upper-class décor. Lilith looks at Damien, then at me, and I watch her make the rather wise decision to leave us be.

"What is zis about, Damien," I say quietly.

"What? The human army my brother's raising? It's to kill me."

"So when 'e said it's all about ze two of you-"

"He wasn't exaggerating."

"'e can kill you wiz 'umans?"

"If he gives them demonic weapons, then yes, he can. I expect he's been distributing."

"Oui. He has." I shiver. "What does zis mean for ze 'umans who 'ave been infected?"

"It will be a violent rampage," he says. "Most of the infected humans will die, along with any humans in the vicinity of where the final battle happens. I'll fight for my life, of course, and he'll go after not only me but mine. Which means all my demon friends and my human contacts. Which means the entire city of South Park, because it's considered my fief because of my location, and because he's a sadistic asshole. Which means he'll go after you."

I keep staring. "What? Why does your brozzer want to kill you?"

"He killed our older sister." He sits on the bed and starts to shrug off his tuxedo jacket. "Three years ago. He banded a group of demons together and they overpowered her. I left a bit after that. He comes off as a whiny little bitch, but he's good at making people like him, better than I am. Most of the noble demons, the higher-ups, are on his side. They want him to be the next demon king after my father."

"Is zat what zis is about? Who's going to succeed?"

"Yeah. Isn't it beautiful? Isn't it just disgusting?" He gets the last button off, and strips down to just a white collared shirt and dress pants. "He's the third oldest so he has to kill off the older two. Then he'll have to kill off Eve and Mary otherwise they'll band together to turn on him. They'll helping him now, but that's just so they can go after a common enemy, me. If they kill him, they turn on each other, and there will only be one of us left by the end of it. Our father doesn't like it, but he doesn't do much more than stopping the violence whenever he sees it."

"Zousands of 'umans drug-addicted, drowning in zeir madness-"

"Over a family feud." He smiles grimly and reaches over to pull me down on the bed next to him.

I yank myself away. "Why didn't you tell me?" I snap.

He bites his lip. "I-"

"No. Zere are no fucking excuses. You knew zis whole time exactly what I need to know, and you joked and teased and fucked with my mind. You were just lying when you said you'd help me. I was right, you'll never change, you're a liar and a manipulator and you always will be-"

"You're just a human," he says. "What could you possibly do?"

I swing my shovel, stopping it an inch from his face.

For a second we stare at each other, metal close enough to skull that my muscles start to shake.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "You could hit me with that, but it'd barely leave a scratch. You're_ pathetic_, all of your kind are, what could you do against one of us?"

He draws in the shovel, tugging me towards him. I release the shovel before he can pull me into his lap.

"Don't use 'just a 'uman' on me," I snarl. "You don't zink like zat and we boz know it. What's ze real reason you didn't tell me about your fucking brozzer?"

Hesitation.

"If you dare lie to me again-"

He stands, too fast for me to process, and grabs me by the neck, forcing me back against the wall.

The grip around my neck is made of tight fingers, augmented by glaring red eyes and the warmth of his breath on my cheek. I choke and kick out, but he presses in harder.

"You want to know the real reason I lied? It's because I didn't trust you. I thought maybe that if you knew my brother were a powerful demon bent on killing me, you would decide to side with him, and spy on me, and you'd destroy me."

He shakes me, rattling my head back and forth and scrambling my thoughts.

"I let you down here because I thought maybe I could trust you, because I thought maybe you cared about me one tiny bit. I guess I was wrong."

He slackens his grip on my throat, and I gulp air.

"You _are_ wrong," I say.

He slams my head back again. I see stars, gulp air.

"You are never leaving me!" he shouts. "You're not going to side with Noah and you're not going to side with that fucking English bastard, you're mind, understand, and you're never leaving me. Goddamn it, Chris, I _love_ you."

I freeze, because this is impossible.

"You're making shit up. Lying to me again."

"Chris-"

"Is zis you being lonely? Is it your daddy issues or somezing? Because you do know I'm terrified of you-"

"_Shut up_."

He proceeds to do so with his lips on mine, his teeth biting my lower lip and his tongue forced into my mouth, and I scream against him and try to kick again and he _rips_ all the way down, fangs tearing through the flesh, and I shriek as he bites off my right cheek.

He releases me, and I slide to the floor, clutching at my bleeding face, still screaming, the words garbled. I don't mean to cry out like this, I really don't.

He crouches down next to me. "Beg me to heal you," he says.

I try to push him away from me, sobbing something like, "_fuck you you fucking bastard_."

"Beg," he says, and his fingernails hover over my eye, and

and I know he'll do it

and I'll never give in, not again, not for anything, I won't-

Bus Jesus- _ohchrist_ - , the pain-

And I'm supposed to be lying to him, making him trust me

And it _hurts_

And maybe in the end I was never as strong as I thought I was, or he's managed to wear me down more than I've realized, because all it takes this time is a little more pressure on my eyeball before I nod and I say _yes_ and he says _what's the magic word _and I say _I hate you_ and I say _please._

* * *

When the honey warmth has worked its way through me, he takes me back to the surface, so that we're standing on the doorstep of his house with the snow falling around us.

He turns to me, as if to say something, and I brain him with my shovel.

This time, I crouch down by him and smoke a cigarette while I wait for him to heal. As soon as he regains consciousness and a set of eyeballs, he grabs my ankle. I stare down at him coldly.

"You were saying things-" he begins, words garbled from his healing mouth.

"Harsh zings," I say, "but zings zat were true. I'm afraid of you. You're reaching out because you want somezing to believe in. I'm not anyone's hope, _mon angel_."

He struggles to stand, and I rise with him.

"I was just afraid you were going to leave me-"

"_You don't do that to someone you love_!"

I grab him by the throat and force him back against the wall, getting in his face, and I know he could overpower me in a second but right now I really don't fucking care.

"You're going to destroy _everyzing _I care about, wiz your monstrous family and ze way you're eating me out from ze inside and fucking wiz my 'ead, and zis is all your fault, everyzing is your fault!"

"Chris, you don't-"

"No, Damien, I really do. You try to solve every issue between ze two of us wiz violence, but you'll win in ze end, you'll always win, and we boz know it, so what is ze point, eh? What is ze fucking point of all zis? Because everytime you 'urt me I am just _more and more_ afraid of you, and zis is never going to get better, and –"

He lets me keep on slamming him against the wall, even when I hear the wood crack.

"Please, God, please – please – just leave me alone – please- I don't want to do zis anymore-"

I release his collar, step back, and pick up my shovel. I hold it up defensively as the last of his head reforms into the right shape, even though I know it's useless.

"I thought we had a deal," he says, brushing off his jacket. "I thought you said you would try."

"I did, and it's not working."

And I know as I walk away that the deal is off, and I have nothing left to hold over him, because it's clear that his love is useless.

"I'm never going to let you go!" he yells. I don't have to glance back to know how he's standing on the porch, his fists clenched and his stance wide. "Run all you want, Christophe, because in the end, I'll find you!"

* * *

It has been such a long night, and I am ready for it to end, but there are still too many hours until dawn.

Gregory is asleep on the couch, a gun crooked in his arms. Daiyu and Hei are passed out side-by-side at the kitchen table, each holding a knife. I smile to myself. Were they waiting for me to come back? How sweet.

I could wake Gregory, but I don't, because he'll ask my questions like _What are you going to do _and I'll tell him the truth, and I'd prefer him to think that I fought for as long as I could.

Instead, of touching his shoulder, I rummage around in the fridge until I find the whiskey, and do three shots. I don't like to drink, and it tastes as horrible as I remember, but my thoughts are swirling by the time I've set the bottle back in the fridge, so it worked out okay in the end. I consider hunting for Gregory's stash of weed, which he denies he possesses, but decide I don't want to be too obvious.

Then I sit by the window and I smoke a cigarette that will be my last if I fuck this up.

* * *

(And maybe it's wrong to lie to both Damien and myself like this, but I've already shown that I do ugly things when I'm desperate. )

* * *

I know he's awake, even though all the lights are off. The house smells faintly of smoke. The front door is locked, but that's never stopped me.

I close the door, quietly. The downstairs is empty. I clench my shovel in my hands. I could fight him with it, I know that. But not for long. I'll never beat him in the end.

I set the shovel on the ground near the door, and climb the stairs.

Damien is sitting on his bed, smoking, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. His window is open to let out the cigarette smoke, and the whole room is icy. His red eyes glow in the darkness. He stubs the cigarette out on the windowsill. I know he can see me even in the bare moonlight.

I kick off my shoes and toe off my socks as I unbutton my bloodstained collared shirt. His eyes widen, barely.

"What is this? Pity?" he demands.

I peel out of my dress pants and, even though my hands are shaking, push my boxers past my feet. I am completely naked in front of him as I stand with my back straight and arms at my sides. I won't try to hide anything.

He opens his mouth. I stop him from speaking by climbing into his lap and pressing my lips to his, smothering the words.

He pushes me away after a few seconds, lips brushing my jaw and eyes half-closed. "What is this?" he asks again.

"I am never leaving you," I promise.

I straddle his waist so I'm sitting in his lap. My heart is beating too fast. My breathing is panicking, strained.

His fingers trace over chin and up to explore the dips of my eye sockets. "You're scared," he says.

There's no point in hiding it. "Yes."

"Of what?"

Of his violence. Of his threats and punches and the fact that I really could die from all this.

I'm scared he'll figure out that I'm only here to keep him from forcing me in the future. I'm scared that he already knows.

"What are you scared of, Christophe?" It's a demand now.

"Giving in."

His mouth pushes against mine. I let him tip me onto my back as we kiss. He climbs on top of me, dominating as I knew he would. His fingers move down to grip my waist. He grinds his hips against mine, and makes a positive 'nmmpph' sound against my lips. He's already hard. The fear only increases, buzzing under my skin. I don't run. There's nowhere to run anymore.

He grabs my ass and pushes me against him, forcing me to move with him. A jolt of panic jerks through my chest. I can't make myself keep kissing him.

He pulls his mouth from mine.

"Goddamn it, Christophe, are you even going to let yourself get hard?"

"It's – it's all right," I pant. "Just fuck me already. You want to."

He narrows his eyes.

"You don't want this."

"I –"

"You're scared and you don't trust me and you won't even let yourself feel anything, and – and - you probably aren't even going to enjoy anything out of this, are you? You want to stay like this forever."

"I-"

"I want you to feel back, at least some part of the way I feel."

It's not fair for him to say this, not when he hurts me the way he does. I'm doing the best I can, can't he see that, please, Damien, please don't push me any farther-

"Goddamn it, Christophe," he says quietly. "You never give me anything."

I cover my eyes with my hands. Please. Please. Just go through with this, stop thinking I'm going to leave you, I'm here for you now, please, Damien, please-

And his mouth moves down lower over my skin, past my collarbone and over my chest and belly button and even lower, and he's right, I don't want to give him anything, I don't want him to know what I look like when I lose control, I don't want to need him, I don't want him to have anything over any part of me.

But he takes everything, anyway.

His mouth closes over me.

Slippery skin and lips moving against me and air and pressure and the suction, and suddenly it is all too much to think about, and I cry out against my will and my hands drop to my sides, fisting the sheets. My whole body goes tense. He moves his mouth, up and down, and I can't help it.

Can't –

Don't

Feels –

_oh god_

It's a physical reaction – something I can't help – but this doesn't change the fact that I suddenly-

His tongue teases.

I make a sobbing noise.

He sucks and licks and bobs his head faster.

We sprawl over the sheets, the chill night air on our skin and our bodies soaking in sweat, his fingers gripping my hips. Tension builds inside of me, tight enough to make me buck my hips and force myself deeper into his mouth. I look down at him and he looks up at me, red eyes glowing and he smiles because he's getting what he wants.

He pulls his mouth off me and I almost cry out. I'm jittery, tense, shifting an inch every second, twitching and my fingers clenching and unclenching.

He sprawls himself over me and pushes my shoulders into the mattress with one hand, using the other to pull his sweatpants and boxers off, past his legs and kicked down the bed, so that he's suddenly naked over me, and I think again that _oh god this is really happening, _but the fear doesn't have time to come back before he starts to touch again, and I melt.

Mouth and fingers, and then he grinds, naked flesh on naked flesh, and I say his name.

I feel his mouth curving as he kisses the underside of my jaw. He loves this.

He rolls our hips together, and I move back. Frantic little jerky motions. I loose the part of myself that wants to hide; it's drowned by his presence, his sweat, his hellfire smell, and his breathless laughter.

I say "Damien!" , and "_Fuck_!"

"Chris," he breathes after a particularly violent thrust. My legs tangle in his.

"I –" I say, and can't anymore. My eyes squeeze shut. I make that sobbing sound again.

It's only a slight consolation that he's breathless, too, that he's helpless, too, that he needs me as much as I need him, probably more, and at least I still have this on him, still have something.

_Right?_

"I-"

and "Ah!"

And I hate him, because this isn't simple fucking anymore, this is body on body and racing hearts and exclamations and new things we find out about each other and the way we react this being kissed here or there.

And I know it won't stop here, not if we do it like this with both parties breathless, with me giving him everything. There will be more meetings in the night like this, and there will be more movies spent curled up side by side, and more evenings where I make him dinner, and more stupid dates with stupid jokes, and he will say more impossible things to me and someday I will say them back because I will have no other option. Because if it happens like this, with me willing in every inch, it means he's won. Because I give myself up to him now, then he won't ever give me back.

I fall to pieces, and he has me.

He holds me against him and I shudder, my arms around his neck and my nose pressed into his chest, not breathing as everything floods through me in a rush, and I break into him and can't hear and can't see and can't think and I finally, finally suffocate.

* * *

"So you liked it?"

His fingers trailer over my arm, pads against the soft flesh of my forearm. His red eyes glow softly. His hair is messy soft against my ribcage. He exhales, and warm air drifts past my arm.

"Yes," I say.

We are still luxuriating in the afterglow. We need to clean up but after being this close to him, I can't move more than an arm or so without the exhaustion taking hold and gravity forcing me back against the mattress.

He presses his nose into the skin below my ribcage, where I'm weak and vulnerable.

"I believe you," he says softly.

"What?"

"When you said you would never leave me. I believe you were telling the truth. You wouldn't give yourself up and let me do this to you – wouldn't have slept with me – made love with me-"

"It sounds cheesy when you say it like zat."

"Yeah," he says. "But that's what it was. And you wouldn't have done that if you didn't trust me, just a little bit. If you didn't trust me, you would have left or fought the second I started to blow you. And so – and so – I think you're telling the truth. That you won't leave me."

He slides up the bed so his head is next to mine.

"I love you," he says again.

I still can't make myself give a response either way to that, so I kiss his shoulder and pretend to drowse against him.

I don't trust him not to hurt me, because I know he will. Physically, he'll beat me whenever I anger him, maim me and withhold healing me until I give him what he wants.

Emotionally, he'll batter me as much as he can, which has already been more than I've ever known.

He'll tear me down in the end.

But I do believe him when he says he loves me. I don't know how it happened, but I think I know Damien well enough by now to know when he's telling the truth.

And as for me, well, I'll never stop fearing him, will I?

* * *

I wake an hour before dawn and detangle from his arms in order to walk over to the window. The snow is still falling, illuminated by the street lamp.

There are people shuffling through the streets, clothed in sleepwear and bleary-eyed. None of them speak, but there's a sound buzzing through the city, almost a low humming, and _his, his, his, _starts to throb in my mind.

I climb out the window, even though I wear only a pair of Damien's sweatpants. The snow goes up to mid-calf with each step. I join the crowd of walkers without asking them where they're going, or turning around.

I know a few of them. Kyle's little brother, Ike, skinny to the point of malnutritioned, a peaceful expression on his face. Bebe Stevens, glancing around every few seconds, her breath rapid with fear.

_His, His, His_. And I know what it means, that I belong to him, that I – And my thoughts are swimming together, and I don't know anymore, but I know exactly where we're going.

In the middle of the city park, dark figures with glowing red eyes with a white cross insignia in the middle of their hooded cloaks. Some distant part of me is screaming that this is the sign of the demon blood distributors, that this is a trap, that I'm doing exactly what they want, but it's drowned by the _his, his, his._

The figures have their arms hold out over a crevice splitting the earth. One by one, the humans jump down into it, letting the blackness swallow them. It is deep enough that I can't fathom the bottom.

There's another part of me that's crying for help. But I'm trapped, I've been trapped since the day I took Tweek up on his offer.

Without hesitation, I follow the others through the line. I'm next in turn for the jump. Bebe is in front of me. She turns back, gives me a weak smile, and jumps.

The red-eyed figures nod that it's my turn, so I follow her.

* * *

**The end!**

Just kidding. There's a part four. (This is all overflow from the last chapter).

I'm curious as to what you guys think: Was that consensual? Non-con? Rape? Where do you draw the line?

Thank you for reading this fun little story of mine.


	4. Chapter 4

Yeah.

* * *

When I woke up and found Christophe missing, I felt betrayed. He'd - He'd promised. Fucking promised he'd never leave me. My fists curled in the sheets and I prepared to burn something, anything.

I couldn't believe he was gone.

Now, years later, I know better. I know that my brother had kidnapped him, messed with his mind and dragged him down to Hell. I know that Christophe would never willingly leave my side.

He loves me. He says it when we go on our silly, mundane dates, when we masquerade as normal humans. He says it after missions as I'm healing his wounds and telling him how much I worry about him. He tells me every morning with eyes still crusted from sleep.

I mean, I always have to say it first. But that's how our relationship has always been. I push, and eventually he gives.

I know there are some things he regrets. I don't let him go on the more dangerous missions the way he used to before he met me. I can't bear the thought of anything hurting him. I know he misses his human friends, but I couldn't let that goddamn mercenary near him anymore, not when he kept trying to tear Chris away from me.

I know deep down he wanted to grow old, have kids, retire, maybe. He's lucky I've kept him mortal, that I've merely slowed his aging to a crawl to match with mine. He's lucky.

He doesn't get how lenient I am sometimes. That I even let him leave whatever apartment we're staying in. I get so sick and nervous when he's not with me. He's the only one who I can trust, only one I can care about. I need him so badly.

He's lucky I don't beat him blue for his backtalk. He's just a human, a fucking human. I shouldn't let him get away with talking to the prince of Hell like that. He's lucky I hit him only a little bit.

He's lucky I let him say no. (Sometimes.)

It's only because I know he loves me. He's proved it to me a thousand times over. Somehow, somehow I got lucky. I found someone willing to put up with me. For all my bullshit, for all the . . .

_horrible, horrible things I do to him-_

I mean. I mean. He's just a human.

He loves me back. He has to. He promised. He wouldn't go back on that, wouldn't lie to me about that, would he?

_unless he was trying to keep himself sane by giving into me_-

He promised. Christophe promised. He's never going to leave me. He's going to be mine forever and ever and _ever_, and he's never going to leave-

_and we all know he does ugly, ugly things when he's desperate_

-because Christophe loves me.

Right?

Where was I? Oh yeah, I'd woken up, and he wasn't there.

* * *

I stumble around the apartment, running into shit in the darkness before remembering I'm a demon and lighting a fireball in my hand. Living with humans so much, casually blending in, makes me forget that I don't have to act like them.

"Chris," I rasp, even though I know it's hopeless. The only heart beating in the house is my own.

"Chris."

I give up and go downstairs to more darkness. 5:03 in the morning by the yellow electronic kitchen clock. Christophe's shovel is on the ground near the door.

I look at it for a few seconds. Frown. Rub my eyes. Part of my brain starts to make the connection that something is wrong.

Then the zombies burst through the front door.

I yell, jerk back. The zombies rush towards me, hands stretched out, making sobbing noises. I burn them to ash in less than a second. I'm still staggering, and I hit the kitchen counters, slide down to stare at the pile of ash.

"What the fuck," I say aloud.

Like, seriously.

What the fuck.

What the actual fucking fuck.

I manage to close my mouth. The zombies threw the door off its hinges when they crashed in. Now I can hear the chaos outside. Screams, cars honking.

I poke my head outside cautiously to find myself in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.

No, no, that can't be right. There are people pushing through the streets, and even though those people are emaciated and gray and unintelligible, making moaning, sobbing sounds, they still have heartbeats.

A riot?

No, I decide as another zombie attacks me, not a riot.

Unfortunately, I incinerated the guy before I have a chance to ask him any questions. I step back into the house to catch my breath and consider my options.

On one hand, this is South Park.

On the other hand, this is fucking South Park.

I look back outside. Civilians are running, screaming. Some are trying to get into their cars, but they're invariably swamped and attacked. Curiously, the zombies don't appear to be going for their brains. They bite at arms, legs, beating the humans into submission before wandering off and leaving the sometimes-still-living victims on the pavement.

I realize all of the zombies smell like demon blood.

And they're all the addicts I've seen shuffling around the city in the last few months.

This is probably my brother's fault. I groan, rub my eyes, and start trying to put the door back on its hinges so I can go back to bed.

Unfortunately, the zombies seem to have other ideas. One of them points to me from across the street and groans, guttural.

"_It's him."_

"Shit." I give up on the door and run back up the stairs, hoping they'll forget about me if they can't see me. No such luck. I hear zombie footsteps pounding up my stairs. Aren't they supposed to shamble, or something?

I shut the door to my bedroom so I have a second to think while the zombies – _Drinkers-_ pound on the other side.

"Get him!" someone is sobbing. "It's him. It's him. Get him!"

"Fucking shit," I growl, digging claws into the wood to keep the door from sliding open. I close my eyes, think.

They want me for some reason. What?

The answer comes to me within seconds. They're attacking civilians, drawing blood, but not taking anything when they realize they're human, not demon.

All the drinkers in the city are simultaneously going through withdrawal. My brother cut off the supply.

That still doesn't explain the craziness, although I supposed he could have cast some kind of spell to amplify their need. Hopefully, it should subside at dawn, when our power wanes with the sunlight. Until then, thousands of people are going crazy looking for another fix, and with my brother down in hell, my blood is the closest substitute.

"Calm down!" I yell through the door. "I don't want to hurt you!" I really don't. It'd be like drowning kittens.

"Please," they're sobbing. "Please- give me-"

I groan, leave the door, sprinting for the window. Then break in, falling over themselves, waves and waves of drinkers reaching desperately for me. I'm already out the window.

Black wings snap from my back. I almost crash at first. It's been a couple years since I last flew and I'm rusty. The wind catches me, swoops me up, and I find an air current to coast on and survey the town from a few hundred feet above it.

There are fires rolling up, and I can hear the screams even up here. Car alarms pulse through my skull. I fold my wings, dive, land on a roof of a ten-story building, staggering, feathers fluttering to adjust.

The car alarms and screaming are kind of giving me a headache, actually. I make plans to blow town, stop, realizing that I still have no fucking clue where Christophe is.

My skin crawls. My brain spits up images of him hearing noise, going out to investigate, getting attacked and ground into guts on the pavement for smelling like me.

No. No. That doesn't make sense. That's not possible. His shovel was still at my house. He wouldn't go anywhere outside without it.

His clothes were still there, I realize, thinking back to stumbling through my bedroom.

Where the fuck would he go without his shovel and his clothes?

I can't think logically. I somehow cross off Noah kidnapping him – there were no signs of a struggle and I would have sense Noah's presence, anyway – and come to the conclusion that he must have gone outside to call Gregory and tell him he was sleeping over and that's when the zombies had attacked him.

I panic. I fly through the streets, almost close enough for the zombies to reach up at me and beg me. I yell his name. The still-sane pedestrians scream and cower when they the angel of death flying by.

I don't find him.

Day seeps up from under the horizon line. The zombies start to collapse, falling to the cement. The national guard hasn't showed up. I'm not surprised. This is fucking South Park, after all. If there was any police resistance they've long since given up.

The remaining sane humans run from town. At least, the ones who can walk. Plenty are too wounded to move, or hiding in their homes. I don't care. None of them are Christophe. I have techniques to find him, things that I would have used on him should he have dared tried to run from me, but none of them are working, which means he's dead.

I land atop a trashed car, fold my wings again, put my head in hands, consider giving up.

"I suppose this is your fault," a mild British accent says.

I look up. Gregory has just turned a street corner, and now that he sees me he's stopped. He leans against his bloodied sword and takes a long draw on his cigarette.

"Actually, it isn't," I say. "Where the fuck is Christophe?"

He narrows his eyes, stands up straight.

"I thought you knew where he was. Why don't you know where he is?"

The bitterness normally would have given me some satisfaction. I hate Gregory. He and Chris fucked in the past, I swear to god. "I don't know, Brit. I've been looking. _Looking_. Haven't found him."

"Well. Well, then." He rakes his fingers through his hair, with is covered in grime and more blood. "How are the Drinkers rioting possibly not your fault?"

"My brother," I say, and I guess I have to explain it to him, too. When I'm finished, he looks even angrier.

"You knew where the blood source was coming from, you could have stopped it the whole time, yet you continued to let innocents die for some blasted _power play _-"

"My brother is a sick fuck," I interrupt, "and yes, whatever he's done to hurt these people is because he's trying to get to me, but do not fool yourself into thinking that I _give a damn_, human."

He sucks in air through gritted teeth.

"Christophe wouldn't want you to think that," he says.

"Like I care what Christophe thinks, either," I say, rolling my eyes. "He's just a human, too. Just something for me to play with."

"Ah," Gregory says. "That's why you've been searching for him for hours."

I stand on the roof of the car, towering over him. Both of us glower at each other for a few seconds, then release simultaneous strained breaths.

"Look," he says. "These things appear to be mostly done-"

"It's only for the day," I say, trying to sound bored. "They're gonna get up again as soon as night falls."

He makes a pained expression. "Well. We'll deal with that when it passes. For now, we appear to have a mutual interest, finding Christophe. It could be he's just-"

"Fucked off to whatever he does when he's avoiding life?" I suggest.

His lips purse. "Yes. That's a possibility. Although the fact that you couldn't find him is concerning. Regardless, the two of us arguing isn't going to help, despite the fact that-"

_I despise you _is left hanging in the air.

"I trust that you have his best interests in heart," he grinds out. "Thus, if you intend to keep searching for him, me and my friends would be willing to help you."

"Why the fuck would I need your help?" I sneer, jumping down from the car, ruffling my wings to make my point.

"I forgot, since you've been so successful finding him on your own," he sneers back. I glower. He crosses his arms.

"I need to keep combing the streets for people who need assistance getting to the hospital. I will join you at my apartment within an hour, and we can discuss search methods. Sound reasonable?"

"Peachy," I say sarcastically. "Have fun with your little hero mission." I head off in the opposite direction of his apartment, and hear him sigh.

I don't need his goddamn help. I'm a demon. I can't find Christophe on my own.

I send out another search for him within my head, something that's tied in to smell and taste. His code, in my head, is tied to the smell of cigarettes, and when the smell burns in my mouth, it takes a second to process. My stomach drops. He's –

Joy hits. I start sprinting, blindly. I don't call out for Gregory. I don't question the sudden appearance. I just turn the corner, already starting to cry his name.

"Nuh-uh-uh-uh," Noah laughs out, waving his hand. "It's not that easy, big bro."

Christophe is standing behind him.

Besides looking slightly confused, nothing's changed since I last saw him a few hours ago. No extra cuts or bruises. He's even wearing the same sweatpants he passed out in.

"Christophe," I say, and he doesn't look at me.

I clench my fists, start forward, yelling, "_What did you do to him you little bitch-_" But Noah stops me by sliding further in front of Christophe.

The threat is clear. It would be so easy, after all. Humans are so fragile.

"What did you do to him," I repeat, jamming my hands in my pocket and forcing myself to relax my shoulders. I hate how obvious I am. How he knows Christophe's my weak spot and he knows how he can exploit it.

"I didn't do anything," he says. "It's all what Christophe did to himself."

I glare, start to step forward again. Then I catch the smell.

It's hard to pick out Christophe under the incessant reek of my brother, but he's there. And mixed with him, _contaminating him_ is-

"You bastard!" I scream. "You knew he was mine! You knew he was mine and you-"

"I didn't do anything," he says coldly. "Don't act stupid, Damien. You know how the blood works. You can't make anyone drink it or it doesn't do anything. They have to take it of their own free will."

My knuckles whiten.

"You coerced him into doing it, or threatened him, or-"

"I thought you were in love, brother," he says, smirking. "I thought you knew Christophe better than that."

My voice finally manages to even out. "What did you do to him."

"I didn't have to do anything. He willingly drank my blood, to get away from _you_. You see, to Christophe you're a violent rapist. He doesn't want to have anything to do with you. He only pretends to go along with it so you won't hurt him anymore. Isn't that right, Chris?"

Christophe shifts uncomfortably. "_Oui._"

"You're lying," I say, because I don't have anything else. "Shut the fuck up, Noah, and give him back to me, or I'll-"

"He came to me. Last night after you _raped _him-"

"I didn't-"

"He came to me to get away from you. And so I obliged, and helped him make sure father wouldn't send him back to you."

I suck in air, close my eyes. "What do you want, Noah."

He smiles.

"I could never just kill you. That would go over terribly in court. They think I'm sweet and innocent, just trying to defend myself."

"Bullshit. Not even demons are that stupid."

"Turns out they are." He laughs. "But not stupid enough to believe the act after I kill a hermit like you. No, I need you to give it up."

"Give what up?"

"Your claim to father's throne."

I glance at Christophe. His gaze doesn't meet mine.

"You know I don't give a damn about politics and I've never wanted to rule. Take the goddamn throne."

"Not good enough," he says. "I'm not stupid enough to think you'll never come after me-"

"I won't, if you give Christophe back-" I start to growl.

He purses his lips. "We have all millennia, brother dearest. Time doesn't pass the same for us but it does wear. I have no idea who you'll be in five hundred years. You'll probably have worn out your infatuation with the human world, driven this one mad. I can't risk it. I have a solution."

Christophe still hasn't said anything. He's in the same pair of sweatpants he was wearing last night, and he's just standing there, shivering.

I can't believe he drank the demon blood.

I can't believe he was so afraid of me that-

No, Noah was lying. I've been good to him over the last few weeks. I've only threatened to kill him a few times.

"What's your solution?" I growl.

The smugness in his expression makes me want to snap out and kill him.

"You have father drain away your powers. Turn you into a human."

Cold runs over my skin.

"That's not possible."

"Oh, it is." His red eyes are laughing. "You'll age normally and require the same things humans do and you'd loose all your strength. I know right now you have no plans for world domination, and you adore humans. This option wouldn't be crippling to you. And I would finally leave you alone."

"I'm not afraid of you, even with our sisters." I bare my teeth. "I'd never."

He reaches out and curls an arm around Christophe's waist. Christophe shifts uncomfortably but says nothing.

"I'd be afraid, if I were you-"

"_Don't touch him!-_" I start forward, and Noah holds up his hands.

"I'd be more careful, too. Wouldn't want to scare Christophe even more. Otherwise he'll never come back. Isn't that right?"

"_Oui_," Christophe says, and then he cries out "_Don't trust him, Damien, he's lying, he's going to kill everyone-"_

Christophe stops, and the expression on his face transforms back from fear to vague discomfort, but it's enough.

I stalk towards them, fists clenching and unclenching.

"Like _Hell _he came to you willingly."

"Think on my offer." Noah holds up his hands. "Think about what all your promises are really worth, anyway."

Then the two of them vanish.

* * *

A vaguely familiar woman opens the door after a couple knocks. She has blood tangled in her hair, but otherwise looks bored. Her eyes narrow when she focuses on me.

I stare at her, trying to figure out where I've seen her before. She stares back, blatantly going over me.

"Uh," I say. "I think this must be the wrong address." Even though it isn't.

"No, no, I think you're at exactly the right place." She steps back to let me in. "Gregory called just before you rang to say he'll be home in a few. He's still being the good Samaritan. You're _Damien_, right?"

The way she says my name is a warning. I'm jittery from stress, though, and can't concentrate on anything other than _Noah has Christophe._

_Noah has Christophe and I can't do anything about it. _

That's a lie.

She leads me into the kitchen and offers me a coffee. I shake my head, terse. Then a man similar looking enough to be her twin walks in. He does a double take and shoots me three times in the chest.

The impact sends me stumbling back at the counters. I stare down in surprise at the blood staining my shirt.

"Hai!" the woman cries. "He might know something! We can't shoot them until we know if they know something!"

"It's the one who's been beating and raping Christophe," the man protests. "Oh, damn it, he's healing anyways. See, it's fine."

I rub the spot over my heart, wiling it to restart. The bullets begin to ooze from my body. "What the fuck," I say.

The man points his gun at my torso again, but he only gets one shot in this time before I react, lunging towards him, flames rising in my fingers.

Then the woman snags me and uses my momentum to throw me to the ground. My head bangs into takes me a second to process what happened, and by the time I've regained my senses, she's sitting on top of me and has a gun pressed between my eyes.

"I'll just regenerate," I say calmly.

"True," she says, "but if I know anything about demons, a headshot takes a while, and it _hurts_."

I keep my voice calm. "What do you want?"

"Promise not to kill my brother and I'll let you up."

I nod. She pulls back and I regain my footing, hands held up innocently. I retreat back to my spot in the corner of the kitchen, hands still up. Hai is glaring.

"You've seen Christophe," he snarls. "You've heard his nightmares. We can't just-"

"Shut up," the woman says, and falls silent.

I'm starting to remember these two. I saw them in the shadows here one night when I carried an exhausted Christophe home. Are they 'business associates' of his? Do mercenaries have an equivalent?

The silence continues, so thick and heavy that I have to fidget. Someone's going to start shooting again. Fortunately, Gregory arrives less than a minute later. He's smeared with blood, probably belonging to someone else. He sees me backed into the counter, Hai with his gun out and his sister defensively in front of him, and sighs.

"Damien," he says politely. "I was afraid you wouldn't show up."

"Yeah, well." I gesture at the siblings.

"They're friends of ours." He crosses over to stand next to him. "I think the worst of the zombie outbreak is over, until nightfall."

"That's when Noah'll bring them out again," I say. "He's using them to distract me. That's probably how he got away with grabbing Chris."

Gregory's eyes narrow. "So where is Christophe now?"

"I dunno. Probably Hell or something."

I don't realize the other way this line could be taken until after he's smashed the butt of his handgun into my face.

I hold my hands up as my skull crunches back together, open my mouth but can't explain because of my broken jaw. He hits me again, kicks me, and I crumple to the tiled floor.

He keeps slamming the butt of his gun into my face, and he's screaming, I've never seen him loose his cool before, not like this, and after a few more hits I can't see anything at all.

"You fucking bastard-" He's screaming, and

"You promised, you promised-"

"_How can you just walk in here like you don't care, you said_-"

And he's sobbing now and I make a garbling noise as I try to protest but he _smashes_ parts of me until I can't even process words or sensations, and I feel Hai and his sister haul Gregory off me but I can't explain still because parts of my head aren't working right,

and my healing ability kicks in and I can hear Gregory sobbing again, swearing and promising to _kill me, fucking kill me_, and then the pain hits and I start to scream as my body processes that it's been torn apart, and

I start to see again and he's lunging towards me, breaking free of the others' grasps, and I manage to roll over to avoid his outstretched hands, and I garble out, "he's – he's not – _he's not_-"

Gregory grabs me by my hair and slams my head back against the tiles. He raises his fist in preparation to crush my skull again.

"_Christophe's not dead_."

Hai tackles Gregory, knocking him off me. I try to raise but his sister kicks me back down, plants a boot on my chest, and points a gun between my eyes.

"Explain," she says quietly.

I crack my jaw and close my eyes. The pain fades as the bones knot back into place, and I can formulate sentences again.

"I didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean it like he was dead. I swear. Hell is just where my brother took him."

"Your brother," the sister says quietly. "Fuck."

"Can I sit up? I promise not to retaliate."

She draws back. I sit up, rubbing my head. Hai has released Gregory, who's taking deep breaths and staring at the floor.

I close my eyes again, suck in air. These are just humans. I shouldn't have to explain myself to them.

But I need Christophe back.

I tell them about the fight for my father's favor, to be the sole heir of hell.

I tell them how I took Christophe to hell last night to confront Noah. I tell them he slept over at my house last night. I leave out what we really did. I don't think Gregory, with his narrowed, reddened eyes and his shaking shoulders, needs to hear that.

"The Drinkers have just been a trap. The whole time, he's been building up a trap. Something to drive me to desperation," I conclude after I tell them about Noah confronting me this morning.

"They were infecting this city long before we moved here," Gregory says. "He can't have known that he'd be able to use Christophe to get to you like this."

"No. But-" I look away. "He knows that I like this. That I like acting human. And he's putting pressure on me to make it permanent."

Gregory stands, inhales, exhales through his nose. "I should not have assaulted you like that," he says, tight, clipped. "I misjudged the situation. I thought you'd had some hand in Christophe's demise."

I shrug. "It's my fault he's been captured."

Gregory inhales again. I can tell he's still angry, probably at me as much as Noah, but he holds out his hand anyway to help me rise to my feet.

"Don't worry about taking him up on his offer," he says.

"I wasn't planning to," I say.

"Even if he is planning to murder you after you become human, we will protect you."

I blink. "What."

He frowns. "That's why you didn't agree immediately, correct? You thought he would kill you out of some petty revenge once you were defenseless."

"I wasn't – I –" I stumble over the words, thrown. "I wasn't going to become human."

His eyes narrow. The sister steps forward.

"Daiyu, relax," he tells her. "_Relax."_

"Don't attack him again," she warns. "There's already enough blood on the floor."

He holds his hand up, refocuses his attention on me.

"What are you talking about?"

"I can't become human. That's absurd. Even if it weren't impossible, I wouldn't do it."

He tilts his head slightly. "Why not? You have said yourself that you don't wish to take the throne. You prefer living with humans. You have the contacts and income to make your lifestyle incredibly wealthy. What's the issue?"

"Noah would-"

"We told you, we would protect you."

"Why the hell would you do that? I'm not stupid. You all despise me." I shrug. "For good reason, too."

He exhales.

"I'm not stupid. I know you hit him. I've seen the bruises." His eyes are darkening. "You're an abusive, sadistic cunt and you get away with it because you're a demon. We hate you because you use your strength and magical abilities to manipulate Christophe, emotionally, physically and sexually. You have nothing else on him. He is a world-class fighter otherwise and would have nothing to fear from you without your supernatural advantage. If you gave up your abilities, you would give up your advantage over him. You would no longer pose a threat to him. And if you did this willingly, this would mean you no longer _wanted_ to pose a threat to him. You would be equals. I can never forgive you, but I can see-" He pauses. "Christophe has already started to _bend_. If he saw you giving up this strength over him, he might eventually begin to trust you. And if you gave up your supernatural abilities to get him back, then the three of us would owe you a debt for saving our friend's life. We would protect you from Noah."

"You wouldn't – he's too strong- " My mind struggles to process everything he's said.

"I can assure you, all of us have killed our own share of demons before. In addition, think how he'd look in the eyes of the demon court if you killed you while you were defenseless. He's made it this far by keeping a good PR, and I doubt he'd try to destroy that. This would save South Park, and probably the whole world from the threat the Drinkers pose." He looks me over, and his lip curls. "This isn't about you being afraid of him, though."

I glower back at him, but the force of his disgust is too strong.

"You don't want to give up the hold you have over Chris. You're afraid. You _know _that if you can't force him to stay with you than he'd leave."

"I've been good," I say. "I haven't-"

"You hit him," he says. "You're probably right. I was wrong, he'll never trust you."

He laughs hoarsely. I clench my fists, wanting to burn this goddamn human's face off.

"It doesn't matter," he says. "We can take the Drinkers without your help. We can rescue Christophe without your help. We don't need you."

"Shut up," I snarl, flames forming in my right hand. I grab him by the neck with my left, shoving him back against the wall. He kicks and fights but I clench harder, cutting off his air supply. Daiyu and Hai start forward and I let the flames billow in my right hand to hold them back.

"If we're going to work together," I say coldly, "then I won't be taking any insolence from a human."

I drop him to the floor. He rubs his throat, gasping.

"And that," he says in between pants, "is exactly why Christophe will never trust you."

I punch the wall instead of his face, leaving a hole.

"I need to think. Don't bother me."

* * *

It's almost noon. In six hours the Drinkers will rise again. There are helicopters from news stations in the air, fire trucks and police officers trying to bring order to the panicked chaos. In six hours half of them will be attacking the others, searching for the blood Noah's denied them.

I sit outside the apartment, smoke, grind out my cigarette, put my face in my hands.

Christophe said he'd never leave me last night. He promised.

He was afraid and he smelled like alcohol but he promised.

He wanted to be with me. He'd started to trust me. Right? _Right?_

Gregory said he'd started to trust me.

It was okay. I can trust him, too. That's how a relationship works. He understands why I hit him sometimes, that it's only because he challenges me or makes me mad.

It's okay. Right? _Right?_

He'd consented. I hadn't –

_emotionally and physically and sexually manipulated him, scared him into taking every step he could to protect himself, I'd threatened that the deal was off, that'd I do whatever I wanted to him, he was scared and he didn't know what else to do, he was scared to death, Christophe-_

_ does ugly, ugly things when he's desperate-_

_ he was scared, he didn't want-_

_ didn't want –_

_ raped- _

I throw up everything in my stomach, gagging in the alley behind their apartment complex, and I'm shaking and part of me finally, finally accepts the truly terrible things I've done, just because I was, _I was scared of being alone_,_ so scared that I'd take anything I could_-

No. No. It can't be true. He hadn't – He'd been willing – he promised he'd never leave me –

_promised _–

If I'm so sure that – _it was consensual, he agreed I swear he did I didn't-_ then why can't I give up my abilities? Why can't I give up the advantage I have over him? He knows that I don't want it to be like this. That I wish I'd never used my supernatural strength over him in the first place.

It's because I'm afraid. Afraid that I haven't changed and he knows it.

_so goddamn afraid-_

I throw up again.

* * *

"Noah's controlling Christophe somehow," I tell them when I get back into the apartment.

They're bent over piles of maps, the siblings writing down words in notebooks while Gregory types on a laptop. When I enter, they stay silent, waiting for me to say my piece.

"When I encountered them earlier today, Christophe gave every appearance of wanting to be with Noah, away from me, even though I know he hates Noah for poisoning South Park with his blood. Once, Christophe broke through and managed to tell me not to trust him, but then the enchantment or whatever it was took over him again. I don't know how Noah has control over him. I didn't feel any spells."

"Isn't it just the demon blood?" Gregory asks.

"I don't- I don't think - The victim has to willingly drink the blood for it to take effect. Noah can't have just poured it down his throat and have Christophe automatically be his willing slave. They can be coerced into drinking it." I freeze, thinking about it. If Noah threatened to kill him-

"Christophe would rather die," Gregory says. "He would never let anyone have that kind of control over him."

_Christophe does ugly, ugly things when he's desperate-_

I shut that thought down. The Christophe I know hit the me, the antichrist, over the head with the shovel when I kissed him at our first meeting. He would _never _be that desperate.

Gregory doesn't know what I know about Christophe, though. How Christophe killed someone for money once, when he was just a kid.

How Christophe might have slept with me last night just because I scared him into it.

No. _No_. Christophe is stronger than that. A month ago he refused to give into me. He compromised but he didn't give. He can't have changed that much in a month- I can't have changed him, scared him so much-

"You're right. It must be something else. Some other form of control. That's why I'm worried." I swallow. "I don't know what it is Noah has over Christophe, and I'm worried that it might make him not give him up."

Gregory's eyes narrow, so I continue, speaking too fast, words rushing together.

"I need to investigate. Make sure Noah hasn't tied Christophe to him in a way I can't reverse. Our meeting early made me think that Christophe has something he needs to tell me. I need to take to Christophe face to face, to make sure there isn't something else Noah has on him."

"You're just trying to get out of making a choice," Gregory snaps out. "You're trying to shift the blame to Noah, trying to hide the fact that you're _afraid_."

"Shut up! Just listen, okay? Just listen. I can't go down to Hell. It's too risky to show my face, have Noah take offence. He'd notice my presence and act against Christophe before it was too late. And it's not just him – everyone in hell sides with him. I have one person on my side, maybe." That's if Lilith still gives a damn about me. "I can't go down there myself. But I need to establish contact with Christophe, to make sure Noah doesn't have any other tricks up his sleeve."

"Ah," Gregory says. "You want me to go down to Hell in your place."

"Yes," I say.

"Sounds dangerous," Gregory says. "Fine. We'll do it." He glares at me. I step forward, glaring back just as intensely.

"If you do this, if you establish contact with Christophe and make sure Noah isn't hiding anything that could change this whole situation, then – then I'll do it. I'll agree to his deal. I'll become human."


End file.
